


Asta's After

by IncreasingLight



Series: In Their Blood [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoption, And now with a different Chantry boy, And now with freshly updated spellings of Dairsmuid!, Bad Decisions, Blood Magic, Carrot - Freeform, Chant of Light, Corrupt Politicians, Cussing, Don't worry I am going somewhere with this, Dragon Age Lore, F bombs everywhere, F/M, Fen'Harel's plans and past, Fluff, Folk songs as themes, I still fail at tags., I'm going to get Tevinter wrong, In which I fail to adequately explain Plato's cave, It's hard when two nerds who understand their own leaps in intuition get in the same room, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Rebellious archivists, Refugees, Slavery triggers, Society of Rebellious Archivists, Solas is Fen'Harel, Sound of Silence is a great song, Spoilers for Andraste's Asta, Spoilers for Trespasser, Spoilers for all of Inquisition, Tevinter Imperium, Tevinter kennelmasters, Thats the Collected Archivists and Researchers Revealing Old Thedas, The Chantry, Traveling, Untraditional families, a lot of Simon and Garfunkel, and I've sent Cullen back into the Deep Roads, and a warden commander as well, au sequel, bull's mind is always nsfw, but Bull's gonna help, but at least he has Cole with him?, dorian is a BAMF, elvhenan lore, fair warning, features an imperfect inquisitor who will piss you off at some point, for those of you who are interested, hang in there, hanging gardens, i am cruel and heartless, ragebeast bull, really big libraries, restructured inquisition, the Society of Rebellious Archivists has a name!, uncovering Solas plans, who will do anything for people he loves, working on it. Really.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 93
Words: 335,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncreasingLight/pseuds/IncreasingLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-Inquisition, this fic will cover what happened to Asta after the Exalted Council.  I don't want to put too many spoilers in the summary, but she will be put in the position of unifying much of Thedas, while trying to unravel Fen'Harel's true plans, using her real skills of research and scholarship, with some old friends and a few new.</p><p>This fic will feature, to some extent, the Society of Rebellious Archivists (Now known as CARROT).</p><p>I'm updating twice a week now, Mostly Mondays and Thursdays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sisterly Affection

_Dear Maxwell,_

_Cullen and I are going to be in and around Markham for a few weeks, and we thought we would… well, we’d like to see you. If you want. You don’t have to, obviously, if you have other plans._

Asta set down her pen on her lap desk, and shifted her legs so that they stretched out before her. “Andraste’s Ass, Cullen, this is too hard,” she complained, albeit quietly. “I have no idea what to say to him.”

“Tell him you want to see him,” Cullen was laying back, his eyes covered with a cold cloth and his arm over the top of that. His headaches had grown worse since they arrived in Kirkwall, and he wasn’t sleeping much. “As soon as possible, because we need to get out of here or I’m going to go crazy.”

Asta reached over and held his hand, which he clenched tight, tense with the pain in his head. “We could just leave,” she muttered, stroking it gently. “See the land, and avoid him entirely.”

“No,” Cullen insisted. “You made me choose, and you’re going to see your brother. Quit being a coward, Asta, and write the letter. That‘s what you would tell me.” The headache had made him grumpy and irritable and Dane nosed him into silence, stretched out beside him on the bed and putting his head on his chest.

Asta sighed, worried, and she picked back up the quill and kept going, concentrating on the cipher Harding had told her to use when writing to her brother, writing what came to her head.

_Cullen has resigned as Commander, as you may have heard, and I am currently exiled from any Southern Chantry lands, so we will have to keep our visit quiet. I really would rather not go into Ostwick proper at all, as I’m sure you understand, but if you could arrange to meet us in Markham, or even at the property you gave us… it would be nice to see you and Bernie._

_Write to us care of the Sour Lemon Inn in Markham, under the names “Mr. and Mrs. Ruth” as we probably will miss any return letter you address to us in Kirkwall. We do have a house here, but it needs a lot of work, and we don’t have the time to put into it, since our stay will be so short. We’ve been staying at the Keep, for convenience sake. Staffing a manor at short notice is not my idea of fun, to say the least. Especially since Cullen is not well - there are too many memories here for him to be comfortable. We probably will only keep it to spare Varric’s feelings, and because he has granted me diplomatic immunity, which, as you can imagine, is hard to find for me in the Free Marches._

_Our plans are subject to rapid changes, so let us know whether you can meet with us as soon as possible. I’m hoping that we will be able to leave early tomorrow._

_Love,_

_Asta_

Asta sealed the letter and slipped it in the raven’s pouch, and held the bird out of their window at the Keep and released, making sure it reached a good height before turning away and pulling out their saddlebags to pack.

“What are you doing?” Her husband asked grumpily, hearing the noise of her movement.

“I’m packing,” Asta replied easily. “We’re leaving tomorrow. I’ll make our excuses to Cassandra and Varric tonight. We’ll communicate about improvements to the Gallows by letter after this, because nothing is worth putting you through this misery.”

Cullen pulled the cloth off his eyes and squinted at her through the pain. “You don’t have to worry…”

“I will always worry,” Asta said softly. “If I had know it would be this bad, I would have told them to the Void with seeing the state of the Gallows, and to do what they wanted and needed. Cullen, you have barely slept in days. We need to get you out of here.” She punctuated her words with packing, weighing articles carefully in order to travel light. “I’d better ask them if we can borrow a few horses,” she muttered to herself. “It’ll take weeks to get there, if we have to walk.”  She crossed to the window and pulled the curtains shut, to block the light that might hurt his eyes further.

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” Cullen muttered morosely. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” Asta replied. “It is what it is. We won’t spend any time in Kirkwall after this that we don’t have to. They‘ll understand, I‘m sure.” She turned and sat down on the edge of the bed, making the soft mattress dip. “Cullen, you didn’t react when you read the book. What is it about Kirkwall itself? The red lyrium that remains is inactive, so it's not that.”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I just… I’m having the worst dreams here. Meredith, and you, and explosions, and Orsino…” his breath caught. “I… I’m glad you say we can leave tomorrow. Varric is trying hard, but I hate Kirkwall. All my failures, they just dance in front of me when I close my eyes - I _can‘t_ stay here.”

“We can go anywhere else,” Asta assured him. “It will be all right, Cullen.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m going to go talk to Varric about horses. Dane, stay with him?” The dog woofed gently, to spare his master’s head, and Cullen replaced the cold cloth over his eyes and put his arm back up to keep it in place. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Asta assured him, closing the door, a worried line between her brows and a lump in her throat, “try to sleep?”

***

_To Asta Rutherford (sent under an assumed name) from Maxwell Trevelyan, care of the Sour Lemon Inn in Markham, in the Free Marches_

_Asta,_

_I would love to see you. I’ll meet you at your land. You’re right about Ostwick. Don’t come here. There is a decent campsite, down by the stream. Stay there, and Bernie and I will meet you as soon as we can break away._

_Love,_

_M. T._

***

They found the campsite easy enough, and started a fire and set up the tent, Asta too tense for their usual jokes, and Cullen too tired after the fitful sleep of Kirkwall and then their possibly too rapid travel to manage anything of the sort.

“Why isn’t he here?” Asta looked out over the direction they came from. “It’s been plenty of time… You don’t think something has happened?”

“This is Max we're talking about,” Cullen pointed out, still grumpy, “He’s your brother. Things happen to both of you. Is it a Trevelyan thing? That stupid motto, what was it: ‘Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed?’ Sounds like a recipe for disaster. You both would do far better to say what you mean and then be more careful.”

“Take a nap, love,” Asta recommended with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. “It’s beautiful and peaceful here.” The weather was warm, for coming on winter, and the trees surrounding them waved leaflessly in a warmish breeze against a sky that was nearly too blue to be possible.

“Too worried,” Cullen grunted, regretting his too harsh words. “You’re right, he should have been here.”

“Maybe he couldn’t get away,” Asta sighed. “We’ll have a look around in the morning, okay? Just lay down, before you fall over. Dane, help me out here? He has to sleep!”

The dog immediately started leaning against Cullen, pushing him towards the tent and finally making him laugh. “All right,” he gave in. “I’m outnumbered. I’ll lay down.” He looked at his wife, watching between the trees in the direction of Ostwick with concern. “Come in with me?”

Asta shook her head. “I think we need a guard. I don’t feel… comfortable here, despite the peace and quiet. Too close to Ostwick.”  She went to her pack and shifted out her crossbow, and started to loosen her usual functional hook in favor of switching it out for the weapon.

“Better to trust your intuition,” Cullen agreed, and motioned for Dane to join him. The dog sat down by Asta. “Going to keep her safe?” He asked, and the dog woofed gently. “Good boy,” he praised, and hesitated again. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay up?”

“Sleep, Cullen,” Asta said impatiently. “You need the rest. Kirkwall was one long nightmare for you, and you haven't recovered. I'm here. Please, sleep,” she begged. Cullen nodded, and entered the tent, and soon enough the rustling sounds inside stopped entirely.

Asta sat at the fire, her back to a log, reading until it grew dark, and then thinking long past midnight, and had just started to nod off when Dane roused her with a small growl. “What is it?” She asked him immediately. “Should I wake Cullen?” The dog sniffed the air and then laid back down, fully relaxed.  "Who's there?" she called.

“Inquisitor!” A hissing voice came out of the darkness, and Bernie stepped out. “I’m so glad you’re here,” the dwarf panted. “Max - he fell off his horse. Can you come?”

Asta looked behind her, at the tent where Cullen still slept, apparently dead to the world and for once, completely quietly.  She hated to wake him... “I can’t, but… Dane?” she asked desperately. “Can you?” Dane woofed and drug his pack over, full of health potions and other supplies. “Go with Bernie,” she told him, fastening the bags to his back. “Let her use what Max needs, all right?” Dane woofed again, managing to sound worried. “I’ll be here, and I‘ll wake up Cullen,” she promised. “Hurry back.” The dog ran off with the woman eagerly enough, while Asta hesitated, but resigned, crawled into the tent to wake Cullen up.

“Cullen,” she whispered, touching his shoulder. “Cullen.” He didn’t move. She sighed, and tried again, “Commander!” He jerked awake immediately, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Apparently that still works,” she joked, delighted.

“Maker, what time is it?” Cullen groaned, sitting up.

Asta shrugged, “Past midnight. Bernie showed up. Max fell off his horse. Dane is with them, with our first aid kit. I thought I should wake you, so I wouldn’t be alone if this is a trap, or something,” she finished lamely.

“Good instincts,” Cullen stretched. “I’ll be all right. Let’s feed the fire, eat something, make something hot to drink, and I’ll be right as rain.”

“You slept?”

“Like a log,” he laughed, far more rested. “It’s good to be away from Kirkwall.  And it's peaceful here.” He softened at her concerned look, and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’ll be all right, love,” he promised. “I just… I don’t…”

“I know,” Asta worried, “I just wish it wasn’t necessary.”

“I can put up with it a bit,” he insisted. “Come on, out of the tent, before we get sidetracked,” he teased.

“Oh, you are feeling better,” Asta laughed, relieved.

“Immeasurably,” he yawned, “not that I wouldn’t like another five hours, but you know… I’ll take what I can get.”

It was another two hours before Max, Bernie and Dane stumbled into the clearing with their horses, Max with a makeshift sling and Bernie fussing over him. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, looking at Asta, embarrassed. “I was trying to be stealthy.”

“By riding through woods at night,” Bernie rolled her eyes. “Honestly, of all the bright things to do…”

“It was necessary,” he insisted. “Asta doesn’t have any friends here. I didn’t want to drag all of her enemies to her figurative doorstep.”

“I appreciate that,” Asta said, and stood up to check his arm by the light of the fire, letting him see her crossbow prosthesis for the first time.  "Hold up your arm, Max."

“Wow,” he looked pale, openly staring at hers. “Guess the stories are true, huh? That apostate… he was Fen’Harel all along?” His eyes lifted to hers slowly in awe.

“Claims to be,” Asta confirmed. “And for what it’s worth, he saved my life, Max. So don’t go holding any grudges. I know how Trevelyans are, I used to be one. He spared me what he could. It was my own mistake, picking up that damn orb in the first place.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, irritated already by the siblings. “Hi, Max, it’s nice to see you,” he mocked, “How about a hug? How’s your arm? Doing well? Would you like something to drink?”

Bernie answered him, “Nice to see you as well, Asta. It’s fine, just a scratch, a few bruises, thanks to the health potions. We’re good, except for the parents on both sides being blighters, but you know… same old, same old. I’d love something hot to drink, it being winter and all. Lucky there is no snow, but if there was, I probably wouldn’t have run into a _tree_ ,” she directed her ire at Max, her narrowed eyes visible in the dim light of the campfire.

“Point taken,” Max laughed in amusement at his paramour. “Something hot to drink would be lovely. Alcoholic would be even better.”

“Both,” Asta said, and poured him tea with a shot of whiskey. “It will help the pain - or at least not make you care about the pain as much. Your arm will be fine by morning. So was someone following you or were you just being overly cautious?”

“Someone is always following me,” Max admitted, “between those that actually know the truth and our parents…” he sighed.

“The course of true love never did run smooth?” Asta looked amused.

“Bernie’s family is Merchant’s Guild,” Max muttered. “They arrange alliances like Mother arranges flowers. And I’m…” he blushed, visibly, even in the firelight, “not good enough.”  He buried his face in his cup.

“Well, that’s a change,” Asta sniggered. “Really? The seventh - or was it eighth? - most powerful family in Ostwick and brother to the supposed Herald of Andraste and you aren’t good enough?”

“You’re disowned,” Max threw back. “They seemed willing enough until that happened. Even with the lack of likely heirs. Being related to you would have been money in the bank.”

“Sorry,” Asta’s mouth twitched. “That must have sucked for you both.”

“You have no idea,” Bernie rolled her eyes. “We’ve been sneaking around ever since. My parents keep trying to get me back to Starkhaven, and I keep using the excuse of Inquisition business to stay around here. Lace helps with that, I'm keeping her informed about dwarven concerns in Ostwick.  I keep hoping the parents'll come around.” She took Max’s hand with a smile. “Mine aren’t unreasonable, usually.”

“Whereas Mother absolutely is,” Max sighed. “Even more so than usual. She’s throwing women at me now.” Bernie rubbed his back with a sympathetic look. “I was kind of hoping you’d have another long term assignment for me,” he admitted sheepishly. “Rather than this just being a family visit. I’d love to get out of here, maybe permanently. Let Leonard have the title, if he wants it so badly.”

“Starkhaven,” Asta shuddered. “Starkhaven hates me. I’m pretty sure no one there gives a tinker’s damn about the Inquisition. I‘m so sorry, Bernie.”

“On the contrary,” Bernie grinned, and dimples showed up in her cheeks, transforming her appearance in the predawn light. “You are very popular with everyone but the Prince and his advisors. We have a thriving mage population, thanks to the Inquisition. Magic is very handy, and Starkhaven is full of very practical people.”

“Really?” Asta sat back. “I thought Starkhaven was conservative?”

“In the Chantry, yeah,” Bernie chuckled, “But mages aren’t held by the Chantry any longer. We have a division of the College of Enchanters meeting downtown, looking for permanent buildings to set up in. They want to issue licenses to practice magic, and while a few mages are fighting it, its mostly those that want to just… disappear. Those that want to run businesses and actually use their skills are mostly willing enough. Some fear that they‘ll be chased down using the licenses. Not surprising, really.  I can see both sides.”

“Isolationists,” Asta guessed, “versus the Equitarians?”

Bernie looked impressed, “Should have known the Inquisitor would be up on her mage factions,” she laughed. “My parents are knee deep in it. Have a half dozen mage businesses that they want to invest in. They say it’s a growth industry.  Personally, I've never been interested in the investment side of things, much to their sorrow.”

Asta shrugged dismissively, “The prospective heads of the College are meeting in Skyhold right now, and my successor and Ambassador are making sure the talks keep moving along. If someone wants to disappear and farm instead, I doubt the College would be able to stop them. And as long as they don’t break any laws or get possessed, the Seekers won’t need to look for them, assuming they had enough people to function on that level.”

Cullen poked the fire. “And I was worried we were taking too many steps away from the direction of Circles,” he mused. “This sounds like something completely different.”

“If a group of mages wants a Circle, they can set one up,” Asta assured him. “But I think very few will find that’s what they want, given a taste of what real life is like outside the tower. Just think how many mages in the Inquisition came around, once they were able to serve and practice magic openly.  In my opinion, which doesn’t count for much in the wilds outside Ostwick, the larger danger is the mages who are emerging now that aren’t receiving any education at all. What happens to those with mundane parents? What happens if they live in a town that is hostile?” Her eyebrows drew together. “I can’t do anything about this, but something has to be done.”

“The Starkhaven mages are offering free classes,” Bernie offered freely, with another dimpled smile. “They really are on top of things.  I understand they have quite a few takers, and that most of the children's parents are grateful and relieved, given the alternative.”

“And yet the fall of Starkhaven’s Circle was a tragedy,” Cullen worried. “Can this last?”

“Kirkwall was worse,” Bernie told him. “Trust me.”

Cullen closed off. “Believe me, I know,” he managed, with difficulty, and Bernie winced. “There’s precious few mages left in Kirkwall, though. Did they move to Starkhaven?”

Bernie shrugged, “Ostwick’s did. They mostly seem a reasonable sort. Ostwick isn’t exactly welcoming mages, though a few stuck around that had family nearby - their Circle never really rebelled, you know, it just sort of... dissolved. Starkhaven, on the other hand welcomed the mages with open arms. And they are reaping the benefits. Like I said, we‘re practical people.  Magic makes a lot of things easier, when it doesn't have to be hidden.”

Asta grumbled, “I need to meet with Prince Vael. He‘s obviously doing a few things right, whatever his personal failings.”

“He’ll never talk to you,” Bernie assured her. “All his problems for the last three years are being blamed on you and your Inquisition. Stay out of Starkhaven, Inquisitor.”

“Asta,” she corrected automatically. “Please, don't use my title - I'm not supposed to be anywhere near the Free Marches.  Is there anything I can do, Max, other than have you posted elsewhere?”

Max shook his head, “I’m afraid not. Your name - and ours - is mud around here.  We're no where near the eighth most powerful family in Ostwick.  Try somewhere around the 107th.  Mother is livid. The Ostwick Chantry even went so far as to ban that biography the dwarf wrote, publishing an entirely different version full of slander and lies.” The sun started to rise, pinky-green skies lightening the mountains that were framing them in. “Do you mind if Bernie and I pitch a tent and get some sleep?”

Asta yawned. “Do you think we’ll be safe without a guard?”

“I’ll stay up,” Cullen assured her, with his own yawn. “I’ve had hours.”

Max snorted, “Little Sister, Ostwick loves intrigues. We’re not, however, known for the skill of our ambushes, and I‘ve been clearing the giant spiders out of this area regularly every three weeks for the stress relief of hitting something. Let’s all get some rest, please.”

“Very well,” Asta looked around her. “I’d like to get a good look at this place in a few hours, though. It’s quiet here.” She relaxed a little, watching the trees move gently in the wind, tracing lacy black patterns against the lighter mountains. “It’s a nice place, Max. Thank you. We would never have been able to afford land this pleasant, or so much of it.”

“Shame the neighbors are so miserable, then,” Max grinned as if relishing a private joke, before going to help Bernie with their tent.  "Sleep well, you two."


	2. True Family

Several hours later the four humans and one dog crawled out of their respective tents to stare at each other, still bleary with fatigue. “Coffee,” Cullen grunted, and immediately put Dagna's contribution to their trip - what she called a 'percolator' - on to boil over a rebuilt fire, while Asta pulled out the map Max had originally given her of the area, knowing better than to offer to start cooking breakfast. Her attempt at porridge on the first day of their trip hadn’t gone well. Apparently one success did not a chef make.  Even Dane wouldn't touch the scorched mass that resulted.

Max shyly sat down next to her and looked at the map over her shoulder. “So the stream is the border,” he traced it gently, “And as you can see, it’s a fertile enough hidden valley, with lots of natural light. Easy to defend, but not large enough to need to, unless you are hated by the largest religious institution in Southern Thedas. For most of us, that‘s not a problem,” he teased.

“Who owns the land on the other side of the stream?” Asta asked, concerned. “If we developed it, would we have to arrange an irrigation treaty?”

“I do,” Max grinned. “I think we can come to an agreement, don't you?  I can take care of this property as long as you need me to, Little Sister.” He eyed her non-reaction to the usually irritating nickname. “The name isn‘t bugging you?”

“No, it doesn’t bother me anymore,” she smiled at him smugly. “I’m the Inquisitor.  Didn't you read the book?  I was never a Sister at all.”

“True enough,” he agreed. “That’s that, then. I’ll have to find another way to annoy you. So, the stream is one border, and the other is the ridgeline of those hills…” he pointed in front of them, "It's not the largest plot of land."

“What are you going to do with your portion?” Asta asked, thinking and wishing, but not really seeing how it could ever work.

“I was thinking about an orchard, given the southern exposure and relatively flat land,” Max admitted, “But I won’t have the funds to do anything if I don’t hold on to being heir. No outside income, except for the limited funds from the Inquisition. Not enough to use to develop, and it‘ll be years before it could show a profit.”

“You want to be a farmer?” Asta’s face showed surprise.

“No, but I want to hire some,” Max laughed. “Doing it all myself sounds like a lot of work.  I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to that kind of work.”

“It is,” Cullen grunted, staring at the coffeepot and willing it to boil. “Too much work. Don’t do it.”

“Not a morning person?” Max muttered to Asta, while observing Cullen cautiously.

“Sleep deprivation,” she muttered back. “Kirkwall was… uncomfortable. Severe nightmares, hardly any sleep. We’re going to have to limit our time there in the future.”

“That bad?” Max’s eyes were wide.

Asta shrugged, “I’m used to it, to some degree,” she admitted. “But that was as bad as I’ve ever seen it.” She couldn’t keep the worry from her face. “We were only there for a week, and I won’t put him through it again,” she swore. “I’ll go alone next time.”

“No, you won’t,” Cullen grunted. “And I’m right here. Quit talking about me. Besides, I wasn‘t the only one having nightmares,” he glared at Asta. “Admit it.”

Asta swallowed, “I always do, when I’m not at Skyhold. But they are usually less vivid now, and not frequent. But there was something different about Kirkwall that… made them worse again. I thought maybe it would stop, after the mark… went away. Apparently not.”

“Nice euphemism,” Max grumbled. “That apostate bastard took your arm and you thanked him for it?”

“He saved my life,” Asta stressed, “You weren’t there, Max. The mark was growing. I was nearly incapacitated.”

“And where was Ser Sexy Knight?!” Max was angry now and glaring at Cullen. “Couldn’t he have done something?” Cullen glowered back, but whether at the name or the lack of coffee, neither one could have said. Bernie ignored them all, staring into the fire with hollow eyes.

“He did,” Asta whispered, “He got me to Solas, to Fen’Harel. Who. Saved. My. Life. So quit it, Max. You weren’t there. You didn’t know.”

“I should have been,” Max crumpled into himself. “But the Divine convinced me it was better if I stayed away, so that you’d have someone to help if the trial… and I couldn‘t get back when I heard, not in time.”

Asta eyes widened with surprise, “You mean, Leliana…”

Max smiled wryly, “I didn’t realize how many of her plans she had told me until it was all over and I was comparing notes with Lace. I knew almost all of it. You played well, Asta. You gave her almost the best possible outcome that she had hoped for.”

“What was the best?” Asta asked, intrigued. “I had no idea she was leaving me any way out, until right at the end.” She made a face, “or what I tend to think of as the end. I’m sure I’ll be playing against her for the rest of her life or mine. Whoever dies first. The very idea exhausts me. That woman‘s mind works in ways I cannot comprehend.”

“Mercy, that is a twisty mind, if even my brilliant sister admits that she has no idea.  As for Leliana's best outcome, think full pardon and you on the side of the Chantry, from her point of view,” Max grinned. “But you were never going to go for that. I told her, time and again.  She persisted in thinking you could have a change of heart.”

“She shouldn’t have even tried,” Cullen added sugar to his coffee and stirred. “She knew Asta better than that.”

“Coffee…” Bernie said simply, and grabbed the cup out of Cullen’s hands. “Need. Thanks.” Cullen looked at the cup, and then at Bernie with narrow, threatening eyes, and then his sword propped against his log, wordlessly.

Asta giggled, “Not a morning person?” she asked her brother.

“You have no idea,” Max chuckled, as Cullen scowled impotently, and made himself another cup, apparently deciding against a direct attack. “So… I have breakfast. Remember that pastry shop, Asta?”

“Are they still around?” Asta nearly bounced with excitement. “You didn’t, Max? The cream ones with the raspberries?”

“I did,” her brother laughed and stood up. “Bought them yesterday, so they might be squashed and a little stale, but still good.”

“I think I’ll keep you,” Asta smiled at him. “Thanks, Max.”

“Least I could do,” Max looked at her, suddenly serious. “You’re the only sister I have, wanted criminal or not.”

***

_To Asta Rutherford, from Dorian Pavus, sent from Minrathous, in the Tevinter Imperium_

_Dear Asta,_

_I did not give you that speaking crystal to let it sit around and look pretty. I have been trying to reach you for days. I should have known that it merely glowing red wouldn’t be enough of a signal for you. I should have had it play a song, or caw like a raven or something. Just use it. As soon as you get this. Because, Fasta Vass, Asta, you have more support here than I realized. I have knowledgeable friends coming out of the woodwork wanting to correspond with you, with Kenric, with Genetivi, with anyone in the South. I haven’t seen a group of ’Vints this excited about anything since the last ball I attended with my parents, and that had four successful assassinations, nine attempted, two proposals and someone’s robes split in half down the back. Naturally, the magister in question never recovered from the humiliation. I think they retired to the country and handed their seat to their heir. I love that spell._

_Talk to me, Asta. I hope this bird is as reliable as the Inquisition’s ravens. I can’t wait months until you remember your dearest friend, languishing all alone in a country that despises him._

_Bull is fine, if a little prone to overblown emotion. We’re talking almost every night, as his travel and my social engagements allow. He’s heading in your direction now, but I need to know exactly where to tell him to meet you.  Please tell me you are not stupid enough to travel along the major highways.  I assure you, every major border into the Imperium will be on full alert for you.  You need to be with me._

_At this point I will remind you that it takes two to make a friendship, Asta, my dear. I am going to assume you’ve been more than too busy to speak to me, and hope that…_

_What am I saying, of course something has gone wrong. This is you, after all. Just… use the crystal, will you?_

_Yours,_

_Dorian_

***

Asta reread the letter, laughing a little, and then stared at the bird, far more exotic than anything then she was used to. “I wonder if it could take a letter to Skyhold?” She mused. “Do you think the spell Dorian used will last so long?”

“Worth a try,” Cullen shrugged. “Worst case scenario, you don’t get a reply back.” Asta handed him Dorian’s letter, and he scanned it quickly, smiling. “He sounds… well,” surprise colored his voice. “And worried.”

“I should have spoken to him before now,” Asta admitted, “But I didn’t want to intrude on his time with Bull. If he’s already in Minrathous, though… Bull must not have lingered at the villa.” She sighed, “I hope he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine,” Cullen assured her.

“I’m going to write to Lace then,” Asta replied, “And then we’ll see if we can get that damn crystal to work. I’m dubious, but… well, I don’t have much confidence in strange magic.”

“So says the woman who had her own personal magic mark,” Cullen snorted.

“Why do you think I feel that way?” Asta countered, and started rummaging through her bags for parchment and ink. “Look at what happened when that went bad. I wish it weren't red, though.  Red crystals give me the heebie-jeebies.”

***

_To the Inquisition’s Spymaster, sent from outside Ostwick, in the Free Marches, from Asta Rutherford_

_Dear Lace,_

_My brother needs to get the fuck out of Ostwick, preferably with my prospective sister-in-law. I know he’s been useful to you here, but things are a bit too hot for comfort, and I recommend a swift removal. Please reply posthaste with a new assignment, or I’m just going to take him and Bernie with me, and you’re going to have to set up a new contact in Ostwick the hard way._

_And we need one. Damn, they_ hate _me here. You might want to tell the Divine that she’s not their most favorite person, either. She’s facing a possible Free Marches split at this point. But I’ll leave it up to you. I really don’t want to get involved in any more Chantry politics, for some reason. I can’t imagine why._

_Tell Kenric hello, and tell him he’s still wrong about Hessarian‘s motives. Also, tell him not to freak out if he starts getting letters from Tevinter. Dorian says he’s making some… connections, and there are some apparently nice-ish ’Vints who want to talk to him about Ameridan and the Avvar. You’ll probably have to deflate his head a bit after he realizes that they know who he is in Tevinter.  That obnoxious hat won't fit his head otherwise._

_Hope you are doing well, and that the Enchanters aren’t giving Skyhold too much trouble.  What am I saying, of course they are._

_Sincerely,_

_Asta_

***

Asta sat down on a log and stared at the crystal in her hand. “I feel stupid talking to a rock,” she said after a few moments.

“Dorian will never forgive you if you don’t at least try,” Cullen reminded her. “Go on, or I will.”

“Fine,” she sighed, and addressed the crystal, “Connect,” she told it bluntly, and it flared red in the afternoon light, lighting up the entire area and casting a rosy glow before dimming considerably to a muted glow, hardly more than a candle.

“What the fuck was that!” Her brother lunged out of his tent where he had been tidying up at Bernie‘s behest, while she went hunting. “Asta, what is that thing?”

“Speaking crystal,” Asta replied shortly, “And shut up, I’m supposed to be trying to talk to…”

“Amica!” The speaking crystal glowed again briefly. “You called?!”

Asta laughed, “You told me to, on pain of death or split clothing, Dorian. What was so crucial that I have to…”

“What, talking to your dearest friend isn’t important enough?  It's not as if the spell will wear out if you use it too much.  It's permanent, my dear.  No fly by night enchantments here that will wear off in two weeks.” There was a sound of a door shutting. “There, now we are alone, and I’m casting some of those silence spells that will keep eavesdropping down to a minimum,” Dorian’s satisfied tone echoed through the crystal. “How are things on your end?”

“Could be worse,” Asta drawled. “The Chantry hasn’t found me. Yet. Apparently not all of the Free Marches see me solely as someone to execute. I’m camping out on my own land with my brother and Bernie. And Cullen’s nightmares…”

“And your own,” Cullen inserted, “Hi, Dorian,”

“Hello, Cullen,” Dorian greeted him.

“Cullen’s nightmares,” Asta attempted to finish, glaring at Cullen for his interruption, who settled himself down next to her completely unbothered, “Have gotten better since we left Kirkwall. Can you think of any reason why our dreams there would be so… vivid, Dorian?”

“I’ll look into it.  Perhaps some of the Somniari collection will yield a hint or three. I need to visit the library here in any case, and see about getting you a pass.” His tone grew mocking, “Perhaps the veil is thin there,” he tried to sound like Solas.  "Kirkwall is such a hole, though, maybe it's just the scenery?"

“That’s probably exactly right,” Asta tried to laugh. “In any case, we won’t be spending much time in Kirkwall. We’re heading back to Markham, after we get a reply back from Lace. I used your bird to send her a letter. I hope you don’t mind. Otherwise it would have to wait until we got back to Markham and found an Inquisition scout or Jenny. We used the only raven we brought with us back in Kirkwall, and I didn‘t want to presume to use Cassandra‘s.  She will need those to communicate with Rylen.”

“I’m merely impressed it managed to find you.  But this is far easier, my dear. So please, don’t make me send another one. That particular spell is not one of my many specialties.  Also, Tevenes don't really go for ravens, or anything... subtle.  That bird was literally the drabbest thing I could find to send.”

“Why, Dorian,” Asta teased, “Do you miss us?”

“Immeasurably,” Dorian assured her earnestly. “After all, here, I have no mousy Southerners to make me look good. Instead, I’m only one amongst many beautiful, beautiful people. Though I admit, Cullen would make an impressive splash. Not so many muscular blondes in Tevinter. We tend to be swarthy and dark. Maevaris is the exception, not the rule.”

Asta grew serious, “How is your mother?”

The personal satisfaction oozed through the crystal, “Livid. It’s delightful. She has made no attempt to reach me at all since our first little confrontation, in which all the laurels rested upon my brow. The little mole I planted in her lawyer’s office assures me that there is nothing they can do with Josie’s masterwork. I’ve been left blissfully alone,” but his heretofore confident voice cracked on the last word.

“Dorian,” Asta said softly, “You know we miss you.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t come home to be social,” he muttered. “And I’m speaking to Bull every night. Most nights end in tears, on his end. It’s a trifle depressing. As soon as the season ends in Minrathous I’ll go back to the villa and spend a few weeks there, but I have other… concerns that I’m trying to wrap up here. Like your library pass, and meeting possible heirs…”

“Is that going well?”

“There are one or two that might do,” Dorian hedged. “But I’d rather not discuss it until it’s a sure thing. There are a couple of complications that would stretch even your exemplary understanding.”

“Oh really?” Asta giggled, “Very well, keep your secrets, Magister Pavus. When does the season end?”

Dorian laughed aloud, “With the season, of course, you sweet ignoramus. I’m happy enough to be unfashionable and retire to the country for the spring. I’ll come back in the summer, I hope, trailing my brilliant Inquisitor friend, and make the social headlines with introducing a couple of soporati into Minrathous high society. Summer isn‘t the ideal time to make connections - so many of us take lengthy vacations to escape the heat of Minrathous - but there are solutions to deal with that.”

Cullen groaned, “Do you have to?”

“Yes,” Dorian replied, bluntly. “If you are not properly introduced, you will have no chance of getting what you need. In the meantime, I and the other Lucerni will attempt to… stir things up a bit. Perhaps we can flush out a couple of assassins to make Cullen‘s stay in the capital less stressful. Surely hitting something in Asta's defense will help a trifle.” He sighed exaggeratedly, “I had better arrange for a tailor to meet us at the villa. If I know the two of you, you’re living out of your saddlebags, and all your nice things are in storage in Kirkwall. Completely unacceptable. If you look like Southern urchins, you will be ostracized.”

Cullen groaned again, but said nothing else.

Dorian continued, “Besides Bull, will you have other companions? I thought I heard that absurdly attractive brother of yours in the background…” Max grinned irrepressibly at Dorian’s description.

Asta hesitated, “We don’t know. It depends whether Lace reassigns him or not. Ostwick has become uncomfortable for him. Can we let you know after we hear from her?”

“Of course,” Dorian sounded positively chipper. “Goodness, it will almost be like having a house party, hopefully without the inevitable murder and bribes to take care of the inconvenience. I shall have to hire more staff.” A echoing knock sounded through the crystal. “I will have to let you go, my friends,” he concluded. “Apparently I am needed. Try me again in a few days, or sooner, if you can manage it. Around the same time. I will endeavor to be alone.”

“Of course,” Asta told him. “I do miss you, Dorian.”

Dorian chuckled, “Of course you do. I’m me, after all. Goodbye, Asta.”

The crystal went dull and Asta stared at it for a moment, already missing his voice. “Well, that was… something,” her brother observed lamely.

“You’re telling me,” Asta bit her lip. “Cullen, I think we’d better keep this safe and accessible, don’t you think? I think Bull wears his around his neck with the tooth. We don‘t have the ability to work anything up like that, but…”

Cullen nodded in agreement. “I’ve never seen anything work like that.” He touched it lightly, with more than a little awe.  "We'd do well to take extreme care of it.  Never let it off your person," he advised her gently.

Asta nodded, "I think Dorian's farewell gift is far more valuable than either of us realized."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been informed (thank you, MarikaHaliwell!) that there would be a feminine/masculine form of amicus - namely, amica. So I'm going through and making the corrections.


	3. Companionship

_Dear Inquisitor,_

_Just take them with you. I’ve been in touch with Sera all along, and the Divine is already sending her to Ostwick._ _We can’t put a better contact in place than the Divine’s own Left Hand. She’ll be there in a matter of weeks. Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on the politics, but otherwise staying out of it. If the Marches split, we’ll have another possible Exalted March on our hands. What a mess. You can imagine Sera’s opinion of the whole thing, but she’s still going. Maker preserve Ostwick when she‘s had her say._

_Where are you headed after Markham? Josie is stressing out a bit about your ‘frequent plan changes’, so please, try to keep us posted about your destinations? I know it would be easy to let your freedom go to your head, but you do have a lot of people with their fate tied to yours, and I think Loranil wasn’t expecting the Enchanters to be quite so… demanding. The loyalists especially - though I’m more than a little relieved that Vivienne is too busy on the Divine’s business to attend. She’s a bit scary, just between you and me. She waved at me once - or did I tell you that? Maybe it was to someone behind me, though. That was probably it._

_Take care of yourselves. Ostwick might look pretty, but I can’t believe some of the stuff they’re getting up to there. You’re well out of that place - worse than the Fallow Mire - even with the better weather._

_Tell Bernie “Hi” for me, and remind her that she still owes me a sovereign. Tell your brother he better be treating her right. She deserves better, but he knows that._

_Sincerely,_

_Lace_

***

Asta handed the letter to her brother and rolled her eyes at his delighted laugh. “Problem solved,” he grinned like a kid. “Bernie, we’re officially companions of the Inquisitor. Shouldn’t there be a ceremony or something?” Cullen chuckled. “I demand a ceremony. Cullen got a ceremony!”

“Josie’s not here,” Asta spat at him. “Just don’t step on our toes, all right? Because seriously, Cullen and I have barely had any time to ourselves since we met, and this was supposed to be different.” She bit her lip in disappointment, and even her brother noticed.

“Asta, I don’t want to impose,” he started. “Look, Bernie and I will need to fetch a few things from home anyway…”

“No, we don’t,” Bernie cut him off. “We’re not going back. If we go back and then leave again, we’ll have them on us like wasps on shrimp cocktail. We’re leaving from here, now. There’s nothing there we can‘t live without.” She stared Max down, her arms crossed and short hair ruffling in the breeze, and the taller man gave in.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “I would have liked to have a little more money with us, though.”

Asta stifled her regret at not having her husband to herself and attempted professionalism, “You’re with me. As companions, you are entitled to all the privileges and wages they used to receive, and a travel and hazard allowance. Josie will be forwarding travel expenses - including your wages - regularly. Travel with me long enough, and it might not matter whether or not you stay heir - you’ll be able to do anything you want with this place. People who travel with me end up with a lot of hazard pay,” she managed to joke.

“And are you going to keep your portion?” Max asked outright, daring her to answer honestly.

Asta bit her lip, unsure, and then shrugged, “I haven’t talked to Cullen about it. It’s… nice here, though. Shame it’s so near Ostwick. I don’t think I’ll ever be welcome there.” She sighed. “I have to write Lace back, comfort Josie, and let them know we’re heading for the Tevinter border, by way of a hundred and one Elvhen and Andraste monuments and shrines. I hope neither of you mind field work and getting dirty. Because this isn’t spycraft. This is far, far more fun. Dane,” she smiled at the dog. “Why don’t you catch us some fish for dinner? I bet there are lots in the stream.”

The dog barked happily, and immediately went to the water and stared intently, wandering up and down the bank.

Max looked at her closely, recognizing her attempt to change the subject. “Asta, I don’t want…”

“You are under orders from the Inquisition’s spymaster,” Asta said bluntly. “You are now under my direct command. You have the option, at this point, to leave the Inquisition, but I don’t want you to do that. Lace is right, I need additional help. As much as I would like Cullen and I to have some time to ourselves, our ultimate goals for this trip will likely carry us into danger.” Cullen stepped forward and put his arm around her waist, looking at her a trifle critically and she looked back and gentled. “Look, Max,” she started again, far less formally. “I… don’t want you to stay in a place that wants your blood just because you’re related to me. I’d like to see you and Bernie safe. I’m going to ask you politely to come with me.” She shifted her eyes up to her brother’s, biting her lip again. “Come with us?” She asked softly.

Max nodded in reply. “Very well,” he replied. “I’m with you, Asta.” He smiled, a little bitterly, “This is the end of me as heir though. Mother and Father will cut me off without a penny, as soon as they know who I’m with.”

“Yes, well,” Asta took a deep breath. “Make it look like something different and they‘ll never know who you‘re with, if we‘re careful. Cullen’s good at elopements, he orchestrated an entire one in Orlais of all the bloody places, around troop movements, about two years ago. Three?” She asked her husband. “Time flies, doesn’t it?”

Cullen shrugged, “I don’t remember either. It was easy, though. Standard troop movements, plus two,” he grinned in memory. “That was rather satisfying. Nobles and their bloody marriages of convenience.”

Bernie paled, “My parents would kill me.” Asta smiled at her wistfully and the smaller woman's dimples flashed into appearance despite herself.

“You don’t have to make it official,” Cullen pointed out, “it's the ruse that is important.  If you still want to hold out for parental approval. Or you could leave and go back to Starkhaven, rather than travel with us.”

Bernie didn’t meet Max’s hopeful eyes, “I’ll think about it,” she said softly. “I really hate to disappoint them. They aren’t bad people, not like yours,” she insisted. “I wish I could write to them, let them know…” she cut off her words. “No,” she sighed, resigned, “too risky, even if I use Merchant's Guild ciphers. They’ll just have to think the worst.” Her face grew determined, and she rounded on Max. “We are not doing anything of the sort,” she announced. “Maybe they’ll forgive me, once they know my reasons. If they don’t, then we’ll cross that bridge then.”

Max nodded, a little disappointed. “I wasn’t expecting it,” he insisted. “I know how much they mean to you.”

Bernie nodded firmly, “Good,” she said, and turned away. “I’m going to take a walk,” she announced. “Alone.” Max watched her go, his fists clenched and his eyes sad.  Asta and Cullen exchanged a look, Cullen shrugged and she nodded wordlessly.

There was nothing they could do.

***

_Dear Lace,_

_Tell Josie- very gently, if she is that upset - that my plans have not changed. We’re heading for the Tevinter border, but going the long way around. She has the list of landmarks I left with her before. I will let you both know immediately if something changes - I am in contact with Dorian, and I can have him send a letter, if nothing else. Our next stop will be back in Markham - the property Cullen and I have here is lovely, but the neighbors are inhospitable, so we’re moving on, with two tagalongs. We’ll be at the Charging Druffalo this time, but with the same name as before, in case we run into someone we met in the city. Max and Bernie will stay at a different inn, and then we will meet up at the first landmark outside town._

_I think you’d like Markham - it’s a nice place, full of farmers and simple people. Even the University there is practical - agricultural research, mainly. I wish I was here as the Inquisitor - I’d love to discuss with them the impact of the Blights on farmland. Perhaps the Inquisition could fund a study? Talk to Josie, see if she has any contacts there. We could supply inactive and active red lyrium, if it would help. Talk to Dagna and see what she has on hand. They wouldn’t need much._

_Sincerely,_

_Asta_

***

The trip back to Markham through the mountain pass was largely cold and silent, with more than the weather and patches of snow. Even the wind was quiet, with an almost eerie quality as it moved the trees all around them yet managed not to touch them at all.  It was melancholy, and Asta lost herself in memories all too quickly.

“Are you all right, love?” Cullen asked, after a few too many hours of uncomfortable near-silence.

“I miss… everyone,” Asta replied, with a bitter laugh, pulling herself out of her own mind. “It’s not the same, without them. I want to hear Sera and Thom making off-color jokes, and Varric’s repetitive stories, and Cassandra’s disgusted noises, and even Vivienne’s criticisms of my appearance.” She plucked a twig out of her hair, cut to chin length because she couldn't manage a braid on her own, or even a ponytail. “She’d have a lot to say, right now.”

“You look lovely,” Cullen assured her loyally. “And you wouldn’t want to wear the sort of thing she looks good in.”

Asta’s mouth pulled up slightly. “Yes, well, that’s true, though her little trick for keeping her clothes clean would come in handy,” she admitted. “I hope we’re in Markham long enough to have our clothes cleaned.”

“I think we can manage that, barring an international incident.”

“Madame de Fer has a spell for keeping her clothes clean?” Bernie was fascinated.

“I always assumed it was a spell,” Asta mused, “Maybe she was just even more talented a fighter than I assumed? I only saw her dirty twice, and both times were exceptional situations, where we nearly all died horrible deaths.”

“I’ll have to find out if my parents know about that,” Bernie countered. “Magical laundry… that would be amazing. And profitable.”

Asta giggled, “Vivienne would be horrified to know that her personal contribution to the world was keeping people’s clothes tidy. I’m pretty sure her ambition reaches higher than that.”

Bernie snorted, “In Orzamaar they would make her a Paragon for a trick like that.”

“Orlais is not practical enough to appreciate the simple pleasure of clean clothing,” Cullen drawled. “Quite the contrary. The higher classes just take that sort of thing for granted.”

“Have you ever been to Orlais, Bernie?” Asta asked curiously. “I have little to no idea what you and Max have been up to, all this time. Leliana and then Lace kept me largely in the dark, lest I…” she blushed, “worry,” she admitted.

“Aw, you worried about me?” Max grinned gleefully. “That’s so sweet!” He cooed. “I swear, Sis, I was eating right, and sleeping well…”

“No, you weren’t,” Bernie muttered, irritated. “You didn’t sleep for days at a time, some of the stuff Leliana had you doing.  And you made sure we all knew it."

Asta gritted her teeth. “As if I had time to worry between defeating an ancient magister, exploring the Deep Roads, preventing an Exalted March and thwarting invading Qunari.”

Max stopped teasing, “All that stuff Leliana claimed you’d done, and I read that book, banned or not. Lots of it seemed… unlikely.  I had no idea you were capable of anything like that, Sis.” They met each other’s eyes and then looked away.

Cullen rolled his own eyes and started providing his own dialogue again, “Max, I worried about you. You were never in Skyhold and our parents are jerks.”

Bernie pitched in, “I know, Asta, and believe me, I tried to convince Leliana more than once that I would be better used to keep a closer eye on you, given my years of experience.”

“I think I hate you both,” Asta muttered unconvincingly.

“Ditto,” Max grumbled.

“Learn to talk to each other, then,” Bernie glared at her lover.

“Why?” Max smiled at her half-heartedly. “You two are doing such a good job for both of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Asta shot a glance at Cullen. “And Cullen, you shouldn’t talk. I know for a fact you haven’t written to Mia since she ripped you a new one over Ros.”

“That’s different,” he protested. “Kirkwall was awful, and we…”

“She doesn’t even know we’re in the Free Marches,” Asta’s tone was flat. “You can’t tell her exactly where we are, until we get to Tevinter, but you can at least let her know that we’re all right. You know she’s worried.”

“I’ll write when we get to Markham,” he mumbled. “Nagging me about it now won’t help.”

***

_Dear Mia, Branson, Grace and boys,_

_We are safe, and traveling. I can’t provide you with details, for obvious reasons, and any letters are going to have to be forwarded through Skyhold by messenger. Asta is a criminal, after all, a truly dangerous person to know, much less be related to, and we don’t want to put you at risk by being in known contact with her. If you have any sign of trouble, head for Redcliffe. Rylen sent Ros there, and between her and the Chargers, they will see you safe._

_Otherwise there is not much to say. I can’t tell you where we are, or describe what we’ve seen, or even who we’re traveling with because of Asta’s enemies. So instead, we will write when we reach somewhere a little more permanent. Bluntly, I don’t see the point of writing at all, except that you are entirely too good at tracking me down if I don’t. Also, writing to you keeps Asta from nagging me about it._

_Tell the boys that Dane says hello. The enclosed animal carvings are for them. We bought them at a stall in a village we passed through, and Asta insisted that good uncles and aunts send presents when they are on vacation. We are hardly on vacation, but she insisted. One of our companions has told us about a toy store in a larger town on our way to our destination - we will likely try to stop there - but don’t tell the boys. If our plans change I don’t want to disappoint them._

_Asta wants to know if Grace is teaching Loren to read yet. Because of course she wants to know that. She probably wants to send him books. Maker preserve us all from being buried in books, but maybe Branson can build more shelves?  If not, let me know, and I will have some sent from Skyhold._

_Tell Branson that we’ll pick him up a few objects as we go along to add to his collection, and tell Grace that a book of Starkhaven cuisine will be forwarded from Skyhold eventually. As for you, Asta already is loading down her packs with books - one of which is on chess tricks, Maker help us. I hope you are grateful. The rest of us won’t be. Dane refused to carry any, and I feel bad for the packhorse. They’ll be in the shipment with Grace’s cookbook, and whatever Asta manages to find for Branson. I have no doubt she’ll find something, with all these minor landmarks we’re stopping at. I think that the last one claimed to be Andraste’s Latrine._

_That was a joke.  Don't go looking for it on a map, it doesn't exist._

_Love,_

_Cullen_


	4. A Vision Softly Creeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realized that I had to post an extra chapter of this today, because otherwise tomorrow's chapter of 'Demands of a Champion' will have a spoiler in it. Oops. At least I caught it? And yay, extra chapter!
> 
> Chapter title from "The Sound of Silence". Simon and Garfunkel's version is the original, of course, but my favorite is the recent cover released by Disturbed. I'll probably be naming more chapters after this song.
> 
> It's not as heavy as their usual stuff, it's downright beautiful. I had no idea that their lead singer had such a fabulous voice. Definitely worth a listen.
> 
> Things are picking up a bit, now! Yay for plot!

Asta stared at the altar to Mythal on the Sundermount. “I’m sure this is it,” she muttered. “But how?” She looked pale. “Everything else is right,” she looked around her, visibly shaken. “The Eluvian is gone, though it would be,” she reminded herself.

“Asta?” Cullen said softly, questioning.

“It’s that place, Cullen,” she looked at him, white with shock, and he moved to her side, worried that she was going to pass out. “Where Fen’Harel took my arm.” Cullen held her still, and spun around, looking, and the scenery registered as it never had on that confusing day.

“But the Eluvian,” he said, confused. “There has never been an Eluvian here! There would have been stories about it, surely?”

“They can be moved. Remember, Morrigan brought hers to Skyhold. They wouldn‘t be very practical otherwise,” Asta shuddered. “But it was here, I know it was. I’ll remember the outline of the hills to the day I die. It’s etched on my memory,” she breathed a little too fast. “He was here. This is where…”

“Breathe, Asta. Slowly now.” He guided her inhalations and exhalations carefully, easing her to the ground and a little color came back to her face. “Why the Sundermount?”

“What if…” she stopped, but then continued, “What if this is where he created the Veil? We know from Varric’s stories about the Band of Three that massive amounts of people were…” she looked at her brother and Bernie, who were looking worried and helpless at her obvious distress, “sacrificed in Kirkwall, year after year,” she nearly whispered. “What if this was where…”

Cullen shook his head, “No, that would have been more recent,” he insisted. “The Tevinter Imperium was already occupying Kirkwall by that date. And Arlathan was supposed to be far to the North!”

“Not the Veil, then,” Asta paled, “But… Kirkwall was the slave capital of the Imperium. The seven magisters,” she gripped him tight with her hand, letting the weight of her crossbow droop towards the ground. “The seven magisters that pierced the heavens… they must have used blood magic to enter the Golden City. The Band of Three noted that they were attempting to weaken the Veil, before two of the three, Seekers on an official mission , were killed. What if there was a group attempting to repeat the process?”

“Holy Maker,” Max whistled. “Sis, you really think? They did that… here?”

Asta looked around her. “It’s a connection,” she said slowly, staring down at the valley beneath her. “We still don’t have the whole story, Max. But it’s a possibility. Those magisters - they got their power from somewhere, and that Band of Three investigated more of Kirkwall than anyone… the entire area is laid out in a magical rune… even the sewers were designed to funnel blood,” she focused back on Cullen. “Varric showed me the records he and the Champion collected, thinking I would be interested. He and Hawke found many things, about Corypheus, and the orb... All of it made sense after the fact, but Varric didn’t draw the conclusions until it was too late. Neither of them are scholars, after all, and it was a mere fluke that he thought any of it was worth keeping. Cullen, the magisters were blood mages…” she gripped him yet tighter. “It makes even more sense,” she stressed, “Cullen, I’m going to have to tell them both my theory, if they’re going to travel with us.”

“Go ahead,” he told her, tense with worry for her. “I told you I’d never keep you from your work again. Just give them the choice first. They deserve to be warned, but I‘m with you no matter what.”

She swung her eyes up to Max and Bernie, “What I’m going to tell you is blatant heresy,” she said bluntly. “Do you want to leave now, or stay and hear it?” She searched their faces.

“I’m not Andrastian,” Bernie said bluntly. “So shoot.”

Max chuckled nervously, “Can it be worse than what I already know about your work?”

“You have no idea,” Asta told him seriously. “Max, this is far, far worse than anything I’ve theorized before. If I tell you, you have to swear by whatever you hold most holy that you will keep it to yourself.”

“I want to know,” Max replied easily, shifting his shoulders. “Go ahead.”

“I’m looking into whether Andraste was a blood mage,” Asta told them both. “There are whole portions of the Chant that reflect that possibility. Her repentance, her relationship with the Maker, all the blood references, even her death allowing her to return to his side parallels with the Avvar’s belief in the possibility of reincarnation with certain burial rites. She was Alamarri, if only by marriage, after all. That is, and will be, my primary focus while I travel.” She lifted her head in defiance of any criticisms they either might throw at her.

Max stared at her, incredulous. “Wow, when you decided to admit you were a heretic, you really didn’t hold back, did you?” He sighed, and raked a hand through his short brown hair. “All right, Sis, you’re the scholar. So I trust you. Andraste was a blood mage. Fabulous.”

“There’s more,” Asta continued, “I have reasons to believe that my former companion wasn’t just Fen’Harel. I have reason to believe - ancient evidence, even - that Fen’Harel made the Veil, and that it follows that he was the original Maker.” She muttered to herself, "Architect, Conductor, Maker... job descriptions?"

Bernie started to chuckle, and then laugh. “Oh, Void,” she chortled, “I would pay money to see the Revered Mother in Ostwick’s face when you tell her that the Maker is an _elf_! She‘d probably have a stroke!”

“So was Andraste,” Asta countered, relaxing now that the worst was over. “I have anecdotes from Fen’Harel that strongly support just that, though he stopped just short of admitting to being her lover.”

Max snorted, “So Solas wasn’t just Fen’Harel, but also Shartan, and the fucking Maker? Is he going to turn out to be the Praetor of Ansburg next?” He held up his hands at her protests, “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but… that’s crazy, Asta. Are you insane?”

Asta slumped, “I know,” she said. “Maybe I am crazy. It’s entirely possible. I‘ve been through a lot.”

Max shifted to look at Cullen, accusingly, “And you’re a devout Andrastian! What do you think of all this?”

“I believe in my wife,” Cullen answered without looking at him. “I trust that she is drawing the correct conclusions with the information she has. If that information changes, she will adjust them accordingly. It’s her job. It‘s her passion. I object not so much to the content of her work, but instead to the danger it puts her in, from the Chantry, and once we reach Tevinter, from the people there. But I will keep her safe,” he seemed to remind himself.

Asta straightened, still a little shakily, “I need to find the cave,” she said weakly.

“What cave?” Cullen‘s eyes creased in worry.

“Varric told me that Merrill’s clan camped here for years, and that there was a cave.” Asta insisted. “There was a shrine there, with a strange idol that released a Pride demon in her Keeper,” she tensed her lips. “I need to find it. I have directions,” she stumbled for their horses and fumbling, pulled out a hand drawn map. “There may be inscriptions there,” she insisted. “I need to know. Solas _means_ pride, Cullen. And surely a Pride demon that would encourage a Dalish mage to mend a part of their past can‘t be completely unrelated?”

“Then let’s camp here and find it in the morning,” Cullen started to say. “And surely not every Pride demon is connected to Solas somehow?”

Asta just stared at him blankly, “Cullen, don’t you get it? The reason our nightmares are worse here… the Veil is thin! The Fade is vulnerable here, wobbly, shaky, transparent - however you want to describe it. You are never going to get a decent night’s sleep anywhere near Kirkwall.” Her voice was nearly shrill. “We need to find that cave, glean what we can and move the fuck on! All those sacrifices that the magisters used to rip open the Veil and pierce the Golden City… they permanently weakened the Veil! And it‘s been weakened further. There‘s a reason this place is called the _Sundermount_. They rent the sky asunder here!”

Cullen sat back on his heels, where he was still crouched on the ground, his own face white enough to match hers. “All those blood mages… all the demons and abominations…” He fought himself to stay in control, to be strong for her sake. He couldn’t lose it, not when she was on the edge like this.

“Kirkwall will always have a problem with blood mages and abominations,” Asta started to cry, “but it isn’t just their fault. It’s the seven magisters’ fault. They killed all those people, all those lives lost to rip open the Veil,” she fell to the ground. “Solas,” she breathed, “this is what you were talking about. What you have to do…” she choked. “Tell me I’m wrong. You don’t practice blood magic. You told me that, straight forward, like you hardly ever were, you twisty son of a wolf bitch. There has to be another way!”

“Asta, he can’t hear you,” Cullen pushed himself up and walked to her. “Solas isn’t listening. He isn’t here.”

“The Maker turned his face away. He turned his face away. But Andraste…” she clutched at Cullen again. “Andraste repented. She was a magister, Cullen. She was one of them, but she repented, and the Maker saw and…” she paused abruptly, "Was she the Bride then? Or just the Singer?" she stared at him blankly. "Somewhere there must be a list of the seven magisters. Were they Somniari?"

“Okay,” Bernie butted in. “That’s enough. I’m not Andrastian, but come on… that’s a wild supposition, and you sound crazy,” she insisted. “What you need is a hot cup of tea, and a good night’s sleep, we‘ve been traveling a bit too hard…”

“There will be no sleep,” Asta insisted. “Any one of us could be vulnerable here. And we can’t ask a group of mages to come here to investigate, because I’m telling you now, no mage should ever live in or near Kirkwall! It‘s not fair to even ask!”

“Merrill,” Cullen breathed. “We’ve got to warn Merrill…”

Asta looked at him, surprised, “Merrill is a blood mage already, Cullen, if Varric told the truth.”

“And according to you, so was Andraste,” he hauled her back to her feet, “But she isn’t an abomination, and she doesn’t summon demons. If we can prevent a single mage’s possession, we have a responsibility to try. We ride for Kirkwall, to warn them. We can deal with one night,” he told himself under his breath. “If we leave now, we can make it before full dark.”

“No,” Bernie said quietly but assertively, “You two are going to ride on. Max and I will catch up. Give us the map to this cave. I’ll make copies of the inscriptions, if there are any. We’ll warn the Viscount and carry on. There’s nothing he can do, in any case.” She walked over to their horses and checked the straps and stirrups. “Go, both of you, we’ll meet you at the next camp,” she insisted firmly. “Max and I have this. Just go.”

Cullen obeyed, boosting Asta into the saddle before climbing up behind her, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” the dwarf spat out. “Kirkwall bothers the two of you in ways that it doesn’t us. And I’m a dwarf - I can‘t be possessed, and I have a high immunity to magic. So _go_.” She knelt down to Dane. “Stay with them, and don’t let them stop,” she told him quietly. “Not until it’s safer.” The dog woofed approvingly. “Good boy,” she smiled. “We’ll meet you in a few days,” she told them both. “Just wait for us.”

“All right,” Cullen said softly. “Thank you.”

“This is what a companion does,” Bernie grinned, her dimples showing. “Tell me if I‘m wrong?”

Max spoke at last, alarm coloring his voice, “Be careful, Asta, Cullen. We’ll do what we can here, as quickly as possible.”

Cullen took the reins, and nodded briefly. “Godspeed,” he told them.

Max huffed an amused laugh, “Which god, my brother? I’d be careful who you draw the attention of in this spot. Mythal? Fen‘Harel? The Maker? Dumat?”

Asta nodded, still pale. “You’re right, Max. Be careful, both of you,” she whispered. “We’ll see you soon.”

***

Max and Bernie wound their way down the mountain after watching the other pair ride in the other direction, curving down the mountain slowly, through the tunnels and caves, and then further, until they entered Hightown, it‘s lamps just being coaxed into a dim glow by the lamplighters. “That must be the Keep,” Max said slowly. “How hard do you think it is to get an audience with the Viscount?”

Bernie snorted, “Leave it to me. Varric Tethras is still part of the Merchant’s Guild, however much he’d like to deny it. I’ll get us in. If not with him, then we’ll go to the Gallows and talk to the Inquisition. Seeker Pentaghast is supposed to be posted here, right? She‘s not that pregnant yet, is she?”

Max nodded, uneasy. “Do you think she could be right?” He asked his lover, worriedly.

Bernie shrugged, “I don’t know anything about magic, and possibly less about Andraste. But if you look at it logically… how many mass sacrifices have occurred during Thedosian history? And… if deaths really do weaken the Veil, Kirkwall must have the thinnest Veil anywhere in Thedas, from what your sister says.” She climbed down from her horse, and started walking. “Come on.”

As it was, the Viscount was arguing with his Seneschal, and they didn’t have to try for an audience at all. “Max?!” Varric walked towards him eagerly, immediately ignoring Bran, much to the man‘s disgust. “Is Asta with you?”

“No,” he started. “I… think we need to speak to you in private, Viscount Tethras.”

Varric paled, either from his full title or his serious tone, “Are they all right?”

“Yes,” Bernie supplied, “But we have information you and the Inquisition needs to hear. Immediately.”

“I’ll get Cass,” Varric asserted, and turned to Bran. “Find the Seeker,” he ordered, and for once the Seneschal obeyed without arguing. “Come to my office,” he nodded up the stairs. “We’ll be private enough in there.”

He led the way in silence, a grave look on his face, and closed the door behind them, just for it to open a moment later to admit Cassandra. “What is this about?” the Seeker began imperiously, and then saw Max. “Explain,” she demanded. “I was in a meeting with the Guard Captain, and was told this was too important to wait.”

“We were just on the Sundermount,” Max began. “Looking at the altar to Mythal there. Asta believes that Kirkwall was where the original seven magisters… ripped open the Veil to find the Golden City. She believes that no mage will ever be safe here. She sent us to tell you.”

Bernie sighed, “He’s telling it wrong. Asta told us about the Band of Three Seekers that investigated that mass sacrifice that you showed her the records of while she was here? She says the Veil is thin here.”

“Not again,” the Seeker made a disgusted noise. “If I ever hear those words again…”

“I’m serious,” Bernie turned to the Seeker. “Her and Cullen are probably both affected. Seeker, you can’t be possessed, correct? Varric is a dwarf. Neither of you would notice. Now, back before the Chantry explosion, the word around the other city-states was even Templars were being possessed, and Kirkwall has always had a problem with blood mages. Asta is telling you that _it’s not just their fault_. They are vulnerable here, susceptible.”

Varric cursed inventively. “But the Champion is on her way back,” he hesitated. “Is she sure? Is it certain?”

Bernie shook her head and Max pitched in, “You know Asta’s research. She draws conclusions faster than she can draw a knife, but this… you didn’t see how upset she was. She wanted us to warn you, and then warn a mage called Merrill. Any mage that comes here is going to have trouble with demons, she said. They would be more susceptible to possession, to becoming abominations, but it won’t be entirely their fault. Cullen said we have a responsibility to try to save any lives we could.”

Varric ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know of any other mages in the city except for Merrill,” he confessed. “But I’ll tell her. She probably already knows, if not why.” He looked at the Seeker, worried, “But… this would be a good place for the Seekers to be located then, but not for the mages we were hoping to have work with them.”

“Very,” the Seeker’s mouth twisted up. “The Maker must have guided me here.”

“Or not. I don’t think we can blame the two of us on Solas, however much you’d like to. He can‘t be guilty of everything, after all.” He grinned rakishly at her and Cassandra… laughed, low and rusty while Max stared openly.

“I have never heard you laugh before,” he said, his thoughts unfiltered. “And you really believe that apostate elf was - is the Maker?”

“Possibly,” Varric hedged.

“There is a first time for everything,” Cassandra replied stiffly, obviously embarrassed. “And no. And yes. Possibly. It is confusing,” she muttered. “The Maker should be bigger than…”

“He slept for a long time, Cass,” Varric reminded her. “He was weak. You saw Asta’s report on him.”

“Yes, I did,” Cassandra argued, “But… faith…”

Varric shrugged, “Just because he doesn’t look the way you thought doesn’t mean he’s not something to believe in.” Cassandra frowned, but nodded.

“I’m still making up my mind,” she announced at last. “You two, come with me. I want to have you deliver Asta’s theories in person to the rest of the Inquisition. Someone is on duty at the Gallows, even after hours.”  Max frowned and followed her, thinking hard.

 


	5. Unsolvable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to get angsty for the next few chapters.

Cullen and Asta reached the campsite several hours later, in growing darkness, and built a fire to see by, and then erected the tent in silence, going about their camping routine by near rote.

“Talk to me, Asta,” Cullen said finally settling down on the ground by the campfire next to her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not sure what I think,” Asta nearly whispered. “If I’m right, the tragedy… Kirkwall will always be marked, Cullen. There is no healing for it. It might be better to just let it fall into ruin, let animals avoid it, and gain a reputation as a cursed place.”

“You are not a mage,” Cullen reminded her, and she snorted at the obviousness of the statement, “Perhaps if the College studies it, they will find a way to heal the Veil?”

“Like we closed the breach?” Asta looked deep into his eyes, wrapping her arms around her knees by the fire. “Remember how much power that took? And even then, it didn’t last. There was a scar. And Corypheus used the orb, and ripped it open again like pulling a scab off a wound,” she forced out. “Kirkwall… the same thing could happen all over again,” she stressed. “But Kirkwall is a home to many. If it can be saved… but should we try to save it?”

Cullen slid over, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her in. “It’s not your problem,” he told her softly. “It’s Varric’s city. You can’t take on his burden. You’ve done what you can. You don’t have the mark anymore. You can’t fix Kirkwall. Perhaps no one can. You’ve done enough. Let it go, love.” He reached down and unfastened the buckles of her crossbow, since Asta was too preoccupied to do it herself. “Dane, will you keep watch?” He asked the dog gently. “Asta and I need to get some rest.”

Dane woofed gently, and laid down by the fire. “Thank you,” Asta told him softly. “You’re more than a good dog. You’re a good friend, Dane.” She thought for a moment. “Let us know if we can get you anything,” she added. “You’ve earned a reward. My other companions get paid, but you don‘t get anything.” Dane panted a doggy smile and laid his head down, his ears perked up, the dog version of standing at attention.

Cullen stood, and offered his hand to Asta to pull her up, tugging her into his arms. “Will you be able to sleep?” He asked gently.

Asta smiled, and traced the line of his scar to his lip with her thumb. “Eventually,” she assured him with an echo of her usual smile. “I’m sure I’ll sleep eventually.”

“Eventually, hmm?” He wrapped his arms around her lower back. “How eventually?”

“Well, we are alone,” Asta murmured, and slipped her hands behind his neck. “And Dane is on guard.” The dog grumbled behind them. “I’d rest better, afterward,” she tried.

“You had me at ‘alone’,” Cullen laughed and kissed her. “It’s been entirely too long, love,” he kissed her again gently, as if he was worried she would break apart, but she yanked him down to meet her and pulled him unresisting back to the tent. “Slow down.”

“Why?” Asta laughed.

“Because I want to go slow,” Cullen said reasonably. “Slow, and sweet…”

“Hmmm,” Asta hummed against his lips. “I’m a little impatient for slow.”

“Tough,” Cullen emphasized, and held the tent flap open for her. “In this, Asta, you have no option. I am going slow, and we are both going to enjoy it more this way.”

“Oh really?” Asta’s mouth pulled in amusement. “How do you know?”

“Because I know you,” he laughed and followed her in. “Years of research has made me an expert.”

***

Max and Bernie stumbled back to the Keep with a still energized Cassandra in the early morning hours, after drafting several copies of reports - copies to be sent to Skyhold, the College in various cities, the University of Orlais and to Dorian in Tevinter. Bernie openly yawned, and Max reached out to support her. She frowned at him, indicating the Seeker before him.

“You think Asta hasn’t told her?” he laughed.

“Professionalism is important,” muttered the small woman. “I might want to be a Seeker someday.”

“You aren’t Andrastian,” Max pointed out.

“A spirit of Faith, the report said,” Bernie thrust out her diminutive chin. “It didn’t say it had to be faith in Andraste. I just have to believe in something. I have that, in spades.”

“That you do,” Max agreed. “Are you going to talk to her about it?”

Bernie shrugged. “We have a previous commitment. I hardly want to keep Cullen and Asta waiting. Besides, I’m not sure if I can be made Tranquil. Hard to sever a connection to the Fade that doesn‘t exist. It might not be possible, but on the other hand, I might be an excellent candidate.”

“Hmm,” Max thought, “You should ask,” he told her. “If there is a way, you’d be good at it,” he grinned and then grew serious as they approached the private quarters in the Keep. “How many times have you fished me out of difficult situations? And surely a natural resistance to magic would be helpful in such a situation?”

“Far too many,” Bernie teased, letting her dimples show briefly. “Shame that I can’t brag about it. You keep pulling us into situations that are too secret to be shared.”

“Glynnis!” The Seeker bellowed and a woman popped her head out looking fatigued but cheerful. “If Varric has not informed you, we will have guests, at least for tonight,” she informed her stiffly and awkwardly, as if she wasn’t used to household staff.  "I'm sorry if I woke you.  I forgot how late..."

“Right away, Lady Seeker,” the woman smiled. “The Viscount did tell me, and I have something hot for all three of you. Do you want it in your rooms?”

“Please,” the Seeker nearly begged. “I have to get off my feet. My lower back…” she stopped abruptly, glaring at the two behind her. “Forget you know this about me,” she demanded. “My back does not ache, understood?”

“Mine does,” Max flashed back, “Almost all day in the saddle, and then on my feet giving reports until the wee hours… I’m exhausted. I just want that something hot and then to put my feet up for a good eight hours in a real bed. After that, a hot bath to get rid of the rest of the aches.”

“Hmmm,” Cassandra looked at him suspiciously, “Yes, well, perhaps it isn’t just me then.”

“Definitely not just you,” Bernie assured her.

They followed the housekeeper up to the guestroom prepared for them. “One room is fine, we were told,” the woman twinkled at them. “Is that right?”

“Absolutely,” Max beamed, rocking on his heels. “Thank you, milady.”

The woman giggled. “You’re a charmer. Watch yourself with that one,” she advised Bernie. “He’s trouble.”

“I’m well aware, but he’s _my_ trouble.” She said it sternly, as if she said it enough she could convince the world. They entered and removed their armor without speaking, Bernie looking at the food longingly, but wanting to get comfortable first.

Max started, “We’re going to have to talk about it eventually, Bern.”

“No we don’t,” the dwarf countered. “Its not like it’s real, Max. I did not elope with you. Yes, my parents will think that, but when I show up still unmarried, they will understand… I hope,” she muttered.

“Yes, but I want to…”

“And this once you are not getting what you want, Max!” Bernie flashed at him. “I had their approval, and I will earn it again. It’s important to me!” She picked up some bread and slathered it with hot cheese, and took a bite. “Their cook must be from Starkhaven,” she muttered. “By the Stone, this is the best beer cheese I’ve had since I left.”

Max looked at her, sadly, recognizing the futility of continuing the same old argument, but went over to the table and tore off a piece himself. “Oh, that is good,” he said, surprised. “This is amazing.”

“Told you,” Bernie came over to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, as high as she could reach. “Look, Max,” she said, “Even if they never approve, it’s not like I’m moving on. Believe me.”

“I’ll try,” Max said, “But Bern? Keep in mind I’ve officially given up everything for you.” He looked at her seriously. “I’ve nothing else now.”

Bernie nodded, worried. “I know,” she smiled, “You know, that might actually help. Now you’re the brother to the Inquisitor again, not just a member of some minor noble family from Ostwick that was a pain in the ass to deal with. I’ll make sure that my parents realize that. Your sister is a lot more reasonable. So surely the negotiations would go better?”

Max nodded and bent down to kiss her. “Please do? Make sure they know that _she‘s_ the one to deal with, not me, all right?”

Bernie giggled at him, “Intimidated?”

“Of course I am,” Max lifted her up and set her on the bed. “I’m not stupid. Your parents are… frightening. I’ve seen that greatsword of your mother’s. She wasn’t always a merchant. And your father…” Max shuddered. “It’s a good thing you are so amazing. I must be insane for even attempting this.”

“Yes, well, I suspect it runs in the family,” Bernie told him teasingly. “Your sister is a nut. Brilliant, but as crazy as a nug in Bloomingtide.”

***

The group reunited two days later at the campsite, while Asta was chatting with Dorian again - as she was almost every day since the first. He always seemed to be available, and she was trying not to worry about him spending so much time alone.

“You realize you are absolutely insane,” Dorian’s voice was fond. “I rather like that about you, amica.”

“Yes, well, likewise, venerated co-founder of the Lucerni,” Asta flirted back. “I bet you look dashing in the party robes. You did design a uniform, correct?” Cullen rolled his eyes.

Dorian made a rude noise, “What do you take me for… an idiot? The clothes make the political party, my dear! You realize that half the reason the Venatori didn‘t have the support they expected was their terrible taste in fashion?! What would Vivienne and Josie say if I failed to make a decent impression?”

Asta laughed, “Probably that it was what should be expected from a ‘Vint and a man.”

“Hmm, good point,” Dorian observed, and a door opened in the background. “Sorry, my dear, I’ve just been reminded that I have a previous engagement,” he sounded… happy, not dreary at the idea of saying goodbye, and Asta exchanged a glance with Cullen, encouraged.

“Dorian, what are you up to?” She asked teasingly. “We haven’t met Bull yet… is there something we need to break to him?”

“Of course not,” and Dorian stammered, audibly flustered. “I’ll tell him myself, when I see you, and it‘s not wholly unexpected, in any case. I just… have to make more arrangements, amica, for your visit. It’s a very complicated…”

“Right,” Cullen drawled, “Dorian, you’re keeping secrets. You are physically incapable of keeping a secret.”

“It’s a happy secret,” Dorian muttered. “You’ll find out soon enough. And Asta, are your brother and his adored going to be joining us? There is a thriving Merchant’s Guild in Minrathous, you know. Bernadette might be able to open a few doors that even I can’t, among the soporati. If the Lucerni are going to make any lasting changes we have to have the support of a majority of the populace.”

Asta saw them watching, and said, “They just got here. Let me ask,” she looked at them.

“We’re coming with you,” Bernie said, her face made of stone. “But Branka’s Anvil, my parents are going to lose it when they hear where I am.” Asta winced in sympathy.

“Did you hear that, Dorian?” Asta asked the crystal.

“I did,” Dorian sounded even happier. “So many guests! I’ve never had a house party before! It’s too bad you haven’t collected more followers. You’re slipping, amica - back in the day you‘d have half a dozen people following you around by now. No matter, I’ll show you all the time of your life! Minrathous is…”

“The corrupt, blood-mage ridden, slave-keeping, diseased and filthy capital of an even worse nation,” Asta replied, laughing at his enthusiasm.

“Well, yes,” Dorian admitted, “But it is decorative as well. Wait until you see the Proving Grounds! Hanging gardens, Asta. Flowers you’ve only ever seen in botanicals. You’ll be tossed into throes of delight.”

“I look forward to seeing her in throes,” Cullen teased, and let Asta push him off their log.

“Something tells me you see her in quite enough of those already,” Dorian sounded amused, “but I do not want to hear about it, my friend. Now, I must go! Em… my appointment awaits!”

“Goodbye then,” Asta offered, and the crystal went dark, and she shifted her attention to Bernie. “How did it go?”

“Well?” Bernie collapsed onto the log. “I suppose? Varric knows, and has written the Champion, who apparently is on her way back from Weisshaupt. He’s warned Merrill who… looked at us like we were dimwits. Apparently she knew, and it didn’t matter?” The dwarf shrugged, “How well can warning a city with a noticeable lack of mages about the possibility of possession go?”

“Good point,” Cullen agreed. “Still, it had to be done.”

“The Imperium…” Max swallowed. “Asta, you do realize what you are getting yourself in for?”

“It’s the only place I have any hope of finding what I need,” Asta told him. “Fen’Harel told Cullen that I needed to start in Minrathous to find the truth, because that’s where it ended. She died there, Max. I have to go.”

“Just as well I’ve been before,” he muttered, and looked sternly at Cullen. “The next time you speak to Dorian you find out exactly his security detail, Cullen, do you understand? Names, positions, numbers of bodyguards - all of it. I have… a few connections that I can use. I traveled to Qarinus, with the Templars you sent to intimidate Maevaris‘ opposition. And I’m warning you now, that… country is unlike any place you’ve ever been before. They make Orlais look like a garden party.”

“Orlais is a garden party,” Asta sniggered. “With extremely poisonous flowers that still manage to be attractive.”

“Do you have a good source for antidotes?” Her brother demanded. “You won’t be able to trust the ones you buy at the apothecaries there. They are capable of being bribed. Dorian is trustworthy, but are all of his 'friends'? I would bet good coin that not all of them are.”

“You’ve been to Tevinter,” Cullen took a deep breath at the revelation. “Max, what have you been doing?”

“Stealing, mainly,” he admitted, “with Bernie as backup. Mostly letters and the like, but they needed spies for the mission to Qarinus and I… volunteered. It was a bad time for me.” His lover’s face grew dark. “I spent some months there, during the war.”

“Why?” Bernie had her fist clenched. “Why would you do something so monumentally stupid?”

“You dumped me,” Max muttered. “I couldn’t just sit around, and Leliana offered. So I went.”

“I dumped you and you went to TEVINTER?!” The dwarf flew at him. “How dare you risk yourself like that? And when were you going to tell me?”

“I came back alive,” Max protested, backing up slowly. “And it was classified! I couldn’t just tell you. You only know now because the situation demands it!”

Asta and Cullen made a subtle exit towards the trees. “She has quite the temper,” Cullen winced. “And aren’t they together now? They don‘t really act like they‘re a thing of the past…”

“On again and off again?” Asta suggested. “Let them work it out.” She whistled, and Dane came running. “She obviously cares, but there’s nothing we can do. Max is a grown man, he can take care of himself.”

“These kind of relationship dynamics are really inadvisable in a military situation,” Cullen frowned. “They shouldn’t have been involved at all, and I’m surprised at Leliana for allowing them to be posted together.”

“You’ll just have to take care of me then,” Asta slipped her hand into his. “Because from the sound of things, Bernie will be very preoccupied with making sure that Max is safe.”

“If she forgives him,” Cullen sighed and winced again at the shouting drifting through the area. “She doesn’t sound like the forgiving type.”

“This, at least, is not our problem,” Asta repeated. “Let it be.”


	6. Reunions

The ruined temple was hardly worth stopping at, except for a half broken window with a small figure.  Asta had spent nearly an hour inching up the steep pillar to get a better look, and was standing precariously, squinting fruitlessly, trying to make out the remaining words.  Cullen was pointedly facing the other direction, polishing his sword, having been thoroughly scolded for hovering when he started to worry that she would fall.

“Boss!” Bull rode in on his dracolisk, looking like he had been in the sun, a darker grey than usual, and sporting a couple of new scars that looked like they came from something with teeth. “Cullen!”

“Bull! So good to see you!” Asta beamed back from her position. “It's no good,” she sighed, resigned. “They used ink, not lead, and it wasn’t fast. The rain has smeared it.” She slid to her butt, and started to shimmy down the rather steep angle of the column. “The figure definitely had pointed ears, though,” she mused. “So there is that link, though the resemblance to the window of Shartan is limited, possibly coincidental at best. For all I know all male elves lose their hair at a certain age. Do either of you have any talent for drawing?” She asked her brother and Bernie, who were sitting and looking bored by the altar at the front of the ruin, and trying to play Diamondback without talking to each other at all.

“No,” Max said bluntly, and Bernie didn‘t reply.

Asta sighed in disappointment, “I need an artist mage,” she muttered. “I’m going to write to Josephine and have her keep an eye on the recruits for me. Preferably one with an interest in history. Perhaps she can arrange something through Maevaris…”

“Oh, because _Tevinter_ is such a great place to send a mage,” Bernie rolled her eyes.

“It’s not so bad for a mage,” Bull grunted. “Not for a mage. Full of temptation, sure, but not all mages give in so easy.”

Asta finally reached the ground and ran to give Bull a hug, which he returned enthusiastically. “Spoken to Dorian today?”

“Yeah,” Bull grinned goofily, “he sounds good. Bet he’s showing those assholes a thing or two. He’s positively giddy lately.” His face looked wistful. “Wish I could be there,” he muttered, “He’s so pretty when he’s happy. Koslun‘s Ass, I miss him.”

Cullen laughed at him, sheathed the sword, and came over to clasp his forearm. “Good to see you, Bull.”

“Cullen,” Bull weighed his appearance. “You look like you’ve been sleeping. Asta and you fighting or something?” Cullen sputtered for a few minutes, as if he was trying to decide whether to defend his virility or his sleeping habits.

“No,” Asta sighed, answering for him. “But we’ve had extremely grumpy… company.” She inclined her head towards Bernie and Max. “Bit of a mood killer.”

“Family troubles,” Bull grunted, lowly, “Wondered when Dorian said who you were with. Female dwarves are under a lot of pressure to marry well and have kids if they can. Rough on them, ‘specially if they aren‘t interested. Not given a lot of options.”

“Rough on Max, too,” Asta said quietly.

“Tevinter’s no place for her,” Bull said bluntly. “Merchant’s Guild there will have her hitched in two minutes to someone she doesn’t know. They have whole embassies with no windows to accommodate dwarves there. Her parents are Guild, right, not Carta? They’ll be the perfect set-up for a quiet assassination. Do they know?”

“About Max or our destination?”

“Both?”

“Yes and no,” Asta supplied.

“She doesn’t come, Boss,” Bull advised. “Max we need, he’s been before, but Bernie… she’d better go back South to Nevarra, tell her parents the truth, that you saved her ass and theirs.  Score some points with her family. Listen to me, Boss, and don’t take her along. I know Dorian wants her along for the introduction into the Guild, but you can get that from Varric, if you approach him right. Blackmail would work - you‘ve got to have something on him by now, right? And yeah, you need the protection, and I know I can‘t go, but this is not the solution.”

Asta bit her lips, considering. “You’ve never steered me wrong, Bull,” she said at last. “I’ll talk to them both.”

“’Sides, absence makes the heart grow fonder, or harder, or some shit like that,” Bull grunted. “Let her vent to Mom and Dad about how much she misses him and maybe they’ll come around a little quicker. Or Max will just get over her, already. Either way would be progress.”

“I don’t know if he can,” Asta worried.

“It’s always possible to get over it,” Bull shrugged. “Just most people don’t really want to, when they’re in love. They want it to last forever, am I right? To some degree, people choose it, even when it hurts.”

Asta looked at him, a little worried, but he turned and started pulling his bags off his dracolisk instead of elaborating, and she decided to let it go. “Bull, do you know how to draw?”

“I’m climbing no pillars for you, Boss. Not going to happen.  Throw myself in front of a dragon, sure, but I don't climb pillars to sketch pretty pictures.”

***

Asta tried to talk to Bernie and Max that night. “What do you mean she’s not coming?” Max was far more upset about it than Bernie seemed to be.

“Bull has information about the Merchant’s Guild in Tevinter. It… sounds dangerous for female dwarves with ties to the Guild.”

“Well, yeah,” Bernie replied. “But they can’t do anything without my parents’ permission. I may not have a lot of say, but they have to get my parents to agree first. Guild law. My parents love me, they aren‘t going to do anything rash.”

“Not if they’re dead,” Asta said bluntly. “Your parents are some of the only dwarves in Starkhaven, right? They won‘t be hard to find.”

“Oh…” Bernie went pale, her tattoo black against half her face. “Inquisitor… can you do something?”

Asta shook her head, “It’s Starkhaven, Bernie. I have no pull there. None. If you are worried about them, you’d better go to Nevarra. You can check in with the Inquisition ambassadors there. Or you could go back to Kirkwall, if you’d rather… or you could go home. I'll grant you a leave of absence, if you like. I think this could be classified as a family emergency.”

“Damn,” the small woman said, closing her eyes and looking exhausted. “Let me talk to Max alone?”

“Of course,” Asta backed away, to go find Cullen. “Just let me know what you decide and I‘ll write to Lace.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Max started to argue even before Asta was far enough away to not overhear.

“You don’t have a choice,” Bernie replied, soft and firm at the same time. “I’m going… somewhere else, and you need to follow your sister. She needs you, and I... Max, how is this going to ever work?”  She stared at the ground, eyes filled with tears.

“So you’re dumping me again?!” Max's eyebrows bent in, “Honestly, Bernie, how long do you expect me to wait around for you? I’ve given everything to be with you. Everything. You said…”

“I know, and I meant it,” the dwarf wiped her eyes, lip quivering. “I still love you. But Max, I love my parents, too. I don’t want them to die… and you don‘t want them to either.” She crossed her arms defensively.  "I know you don't.  Even if that means you have to give me up."

“Shit,” Max stood up abruptly. “No,” he refused. “Just no. You are not dumping me again. I won’t let you.” He grabbed her hand. “Tell me you’ll wait.”

“I’ll wait in Kirkwall. I’ll talk to Seeker Pentaghast about becoming a Seeker, see what I can find out about the city for Asta there. I know she said the records were useless and ill-kept, but still…”

“And I’ll meet you in Kirkwall when she doesn’t need me anymore,” Max swallowed the lump in his throat. “Just promise me you’ll still be there.” He wrapped her in his arms, far too tightly.

“I’ll tell the Viscount I need protection from the Merchant’s Guild,” she smiled, and let herself be held by him. “I won’t leave unless the Seeker needs me elsewhere. I have to follow orders, Max. You know that. The war may be over, but we‘re still soldiers.”

“I know,” he knelt in front of her suddenly.

“Don’t do it,” she ordered, alarmed, her black tattoo standing out stark against half her face. “Don’t do it, Max, I can’t… that isn‘t even the way betrothals work for dwarves. It would mean nothing…”

“You can,” he demanded. “And it would mean something to me. I need to know…”

“I swear by the Ancestors that I will wait,” she whispered intensely. “That will have to be enough.” She cupped his face, smoothing his hair and feeling the stubble of his jaw. “Say it’s enough?”

“If that’s all I can have,” Max choked out.

“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I would if I could, Max, but…”

“I…” he tilted his head forward into her chest and she cradled it there, letting her tears fall. “Damn it, Bernie,” he muttered. “All right, I am yours, no matter what. You know that. And I will trust to your Ancestors that you are telling me the truth.”

“I want nothing more than you,” Bernie breathed into his hair, stroking it. “I vow by the Stone itself that I speak the truth.” She pulled back. “I’ll go tell your sister,” she finished. “I’ll leave in the morning.” She walked away and left him on his knees in the dirt, with his eyes squeezed shut.

***

“Asta,” Cullen complained, “I can’t see. My helm has slipped…” he grunted and shifted, “sideways.”

“Just a little higher!” She called out. “I’m just a little short of the inscription!”  Cullen braced and attempted to be a few inches taller.

“Boss,” Bull called out. “There’s another wave of spiders coming. And what looks like might be… skeletons.” He sighed, loud enough for Asta to hear on her perch. “Undead make me miss Dorian. Remember that little swing of his hips just before he‘s going to raise something?” He grunted, “I miss those hips.”

“No one wants to hear about Dorian’s hips,” Max grumbled.

“Except for Dorian!” Asta chirped, “Just a second, Bull!” She stepped on the face of Andraste, moving herself up six inches using the prominent lips and curl of her nostril. “Got it! Hand me the paper, love! I’ll take the rubbings!” She grabbed the paper with her good hand, perched awkwardly on Andraste’s nose, and held it against the runes with her crossbow prosthesis. “Go ahead, kill the nasty spiders, Cullen. I’ll just be a minute, and I’ll have a better vantage point from here with Fact.”

“Stupid name for a crossbow,” Bull grunted, braced against the sound of scraping and skittering legs. “Could have named it anything, and you went with Fact?”

“Yes, well, it was mine to name,” Asta defended. “And Fact can be deadly, so…”

“Still super corny,” Bull continued. “Everyone thought you’d give it some pretty flower name. Varric had bets, and nobody won. I had half a month's salary sunk into Prophet‘s Laurel.”

“I could have used that money,” Max groused. “I was backing Dragon Lily.”

“I did think about Iris, because of Wisdom, but didn‘t want people thinking I had named it after a spirit, or that I was bragging,” she admitted, rubbing the charcoal across the parchment gently but firmly. “How close are they now?”

“Less than 20 feet, just around the corner,” Bull announced, and Cullen drew his sword with a ringing sound, and braced with his shield.

“We really need a mage,” Asta sighed. “This would be so much easier if we had glyphs across the entrance to the chamber.  Do any of you know any mages that might like to join the Inquisition?”

“Asta, love, think of who you are asking,” Cullen reprimanded, “Do I know any mages? If I approached the ones I used to know, they’d run the other direction, shooting lightening, or streaming blood, if I was unlucky. The only one I‘m sure is still around is Merrill, and she‘s too famous to ask to be your companion! Even if she was within a reasonable distance instead of weeks of travel behind us!” At that moment the creatures skittered and stumbled around the corner and Bull roared and charged full on. Cullen stayed where he was, and defended her position. “So, no!” He yelled in reply. “But Inquisitor, if you are going to help out, now would be a good time.”

“Just about… done!” Asta beamed, and tucked the charcoal back in her pouch with the rolled up scroll, and shifting her seat around. “Aiming!” she announced. “Heads down!” The three men below ducked and she fired, taking out a skeleton that was trying to flank Bull. She drew back the bow again with her good hand and took aim and fired again - dead on target, saving Max this time from bony clutches. “I’m two for two!” She announced happily. “I think I’m improving!”

“Wonderful,” Cullen managed, panting. “That’s great, love. Please, less talking and more… help?”

For a few minutes bolts fell like rain and daggers, swords and axes flashed until the three men were hopelessly bloody and miserable while Asta remained impeccable, high on her perch. She smiled at them confidently. “Help me down?” She asked Cullen, and finally his scowl broke into laughter, as he went around to catch her as she jumped.

“Did you get it then?” He left his hands on her waist as he asked.

“Yes!” She smiled. “There’s definitely something there about the Maker, and it’s not anything I recognize from the Chant. Those runes are old, Cullen! I'll probably have to consult the library in Minrathous to decipher them correctly. The age of the ruin is older than that of the monastery _or_ the crypt! I may be onto something!”

“Great, can we get out of this creepy ass place now?” Bull grumbled. “Pretty sure I saw some Felandaris back there, and you know what that means.” His voice grew mocking, “The Veil is thin here,” he attempted.  "Maybe that's what you should have named the damn crossbow."

“You shouldn’t mock Fen’Harel,” Asta reproved him.  "And it has a perfectly good name."

“Yeah, well, he ain’t my god,” Bull disagreed. “I’ll mock Solas anyway I like.” Max snorted in approval. “I know you think he did you a favor, but I bet there was another way. Solas doesn‘t specialize in thinking outside the orb.”

“Don’t worry, Bull, I think we’re only a half day away from the villa Dorian bought,” Cullen wiped his sword clean. “It’ll be good to see him. Say ‘Hi’ when you check in tonight.”

“If he answers,” Bull grumbled. “He’s been so busy and preoccupied lately.”

“He has a lot on his mind,” Asta reassured him. “You know he misses you.”

“You think?” Bull looked worried. “What if he changed his mind? What if he met somebody, somebody _magical_? I can’t compete with that!”

Cullen and Asta exchanged a look. “You’re safe, Bull,” Cullen said. “Try not to worry.”

A voice came from outside the cave as they made their way out into daylight. “Amatus?” It sounded nervous. “Are you in there?”

“Kadan,” Bull breathed, and pushed past Cullen and Asta to sweep the mage into his arms, worries nearly forgotten. “Damn it, Dorian, what are you doing here alone? There were assassins, there were reasons for you to wait for us at your villa!” He was peppering the mage with little kisses, and planting a larger, more passionate one on his lips as he finished his scolding. “Kadan, I’ve missed you,” he was nearly weeping now. “Koslun’s Ass, you are so...”

Max looked away, scowling.

“I missed you, too,” Dorian said, serenely and happily, glowing at Bull and cupping the larger man‘s skull in his hands. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He smiled at all of them proudly. “Asta, Cullen…”

Bull’s face collapsed, “Damn, you did meet somebody,” his face crunched up. “I knew it was too good to last… but Kadan...”

“Not like that, Amatus,” Dorian smiled teasingly. “This… is our daughter.”

 


	7. Endearments

“Daughter?” Bull’s eyes got bigger. “Kadan…”

Dorian beckoned to a spot behind a tree. “Come out and meet everyone, my dear.”

A dark haired elven girl, barely a teenager, stepped out, looking shyly eager. “Hello,” she said, in gently accented Common. “I’m Emily.” She smiled at Bull, who gaped at her blankly. “You must be the Iron Bull. Master,” she winced, “I mean, Magister Pavus, I mean, _Dorian_ ,” she winced again and blushed. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m not used to this. I knew what I was supposed to say, but…”

“That’s all right, my dear,” Dorian held out his hand and she took it, staring at her feet and blushing red straight to her ears. “Let me start. Inquisitor, this is Emily Pavus. Emily, this is the Inquisitor and her husband, Ser Cullen Rutherford, First Knight of the Inquisition.”

“Hello,” she said softly. “Inquisitor,” she curtseyed, obviously well rehearsed. “It’s nice to meet you. Ser Cullen,” she managed yet another curtsey. “I’ve heard a lot of crazy stories,” she admitted. “…Dorian… has told me many things.”

Dorian beamed a little in pride. “Isn’t she charming?” he said, obviously besotted. “And you should see her entropy magic. I’ve never seen such talent.”

“Entropy?” Asta frowned, “Dorian, how are you qualified to teach entropy?”

Dorian waved her aside. “I’m not, though it‘s not as far from necromancy as you might think. That’s what tutors are for. And none but the best for Emily, I assure you.”

“Isn’t she supposed to be _your_ apprentice?” Cullen asked, even more confused.

“Well, yes,” Dorian admitted, “But she was wasted where she was. Wasted and vulnerable. We’ve a lot to overcome from her past, but she’s brilliant, learning faster than either I or her other teachers can teach. You should see her spar! Her barriers are a work of art.” Emily rolled her eyes slightly, and then refocused them on the dirt.

“You can spar?!” Bull finally found his words. “Can I have a match?”

The girl smiled briefly, and raised her eyes finally. “I was hoping you would ask,” she said quietly. “Mag… Dorian told me you’d be excited to hear I was learning to fight. He says my greatest risk will come from warriors. He had to explain how Southern Templars can block my access to the Fade. ‘Vints don‘t do that. I need the practice.” She looked at Cullen as if she was confused about whether to bring it up at all, but Dorian patted her shoulder gently in encouragement.

“Well, come the revolution she may need to know.” Dorian grinned blissfully at Asta, possibly happier than she had ever seen him. “Personal defense is crucial in any case.”

“Already plotting the downfall of the Imperium, Magister Pavus?” Asta teased. “Divide, conquer and rearrange?”

“Me and about two hundred of our closest friends, Inquisitor,” he announced. “The Lucerni are so excited to meet you. The ’Vint collective of archivists is behind you almost to a man,” he urged excitedly. “Finally, a unifying influence! More of us are exposing our connections beyond the empire every day! It’s a very exciting time to live in the Imperium, my dear. They’ll be throwing parties, punctuated with genial arguments about the most interesting topics, there will be assassination attempts and more than enough opportunities for Cullen to scowl while other people attempt to dance with you…”

Predictably, Cullen scowled, and Asta laughed and shook her head. “And time to do some research correct? You haven’t forgotten my desire to see the library?”

“As if you would let us forget,” Dorian said indulgently. “And yes, those arrangements have been made for some time. I’ve found the perfect person to provide assistance.”

Dane made his way out of the shadows, woofing quietly, and Cullen face relaxed. “All clear, then? Good dog,” he grinned, and Dane sat down to scratch his ear with his hind leg.

“Is that a Mabari?” Emily’s face lit up with delight. “My mother was from Ferelden!”

“She was?” Cullen swallowed. “How?” He realized the answer even as he asked the question, his face falling.

“She was captured from Denerim’s alienage during the Blight,” Emily explained, self-consciously. “She found out she was having me… afterward.” She looked at her hands, “She died when I was little, I’m afraid, so I don’t know much more. But she described Mabari to me. They sound… amazing.” She looked up and the intelligence shone in her eyes. “Did you know that they were originally bred in Tevinter, only to _rebel_ when Andraste led the Alamarri and the People against the Imperium? They’re supposed to be so intelligent!” Dane woofed in confirmation, simultaneously managing to look his most demented.

Asta’s eyes teared up. “You… Your mother was sold…” She looked at Cullen, who shook his head, shaken by the revelation, and then crossed the clearing to embrace the child. “Dorian,” she choked out. “You…”

“Me,” Dorian said with great satisfaction. “I’m only sorry that I could only legally adopt one. More than that would complicate things, and I mightn‘t be able to protect more from my enemies. But I’m taking strides,” he assured Asta. “Please believe me, Asta. Every time the Magisterium meets, I’m speaking out in favor of reform… I‘m even more unpopular than ever…” Asta reached out her arm and pulled him into the hug by his collar, Emily frozen in shock in the middle, obviously unused to physical affection.

Bull grunted and wrapped his arms around all three of them. “She’s wonderful, Kadan,” he muttered, leaving damp spots on his husband’s neck. “You did good.”

Dane woofed awkwardly. “You said it,” replied Cullen, as he rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing Max, who was leaning up against the wall of the cavern and staying out of everything. “Dorian, how far away is this villa?”

Asta pulled herself back from the hug. “Good point,” she sighed, and wiped her tears away. “How far, Dorian?”

“Yeah, how far did you both come without protection?” Bull asked, suddenly irritable.

Dorian huffed, “Nonsense. Emily and I are more than enough. There are only spiders around here.”

“Dorian, there were skeletons in that chamber,” Asta told him slowly. “Where did they come from?”

Dorian looked mischievous. “I thought you’d guess they were mine. I only sent a few,” he protested. “A little calling card, as it were.”

Bull busted up laughing, his arm still around the mage. “Good one,” he roared, and slapped the man’s back. “Made it fun.” The girl looked up at him in surprise and inched away slowly, as is frightened he was going to slap her back next. “I’m going to tell you about the first dragon your dad and I vanquished together!” He announced confidently. “You’re old enough to hear all the gory details, unlike Cullen and Asta’s nephews.”

Dorian looked awkward, “Bull, we aren’t really using that word,” he started to explain, but Emily leaned forward eagerly, truly broken out of her shell for the first time.

“Was it bloody? Dorian won’t tell me, he says it would give me nightmares. But he said it shot lightening and ate people!” She looked at Bull suspiciously, “You won’t hold back, right? Because I’m not a little girl anymore. I can take it.”

“It tried to bite my leg off,” Bull grinned in excitement and appreciation.

“That. Is. So. Amazing.” The girl moved closer. “When the lightening hit… did it shock you enough to make your hair stand up? I‘m not so good with lightening yet… I can only manage a spark. Magis… Dorian says I need to keep trying, but I might never be very good with it.”

“I could feel it to the tips of my horns,” Bull assured her. “And when it went for your dad, I dove in front of it, and chopped its foot nearly in half. It flopped around, attached by a little bit of skin for the rest of the battle.”

The girl’s eyes shone in excitement. “That’s just gruesome. What happened next?”

“Bull, we aren’t really using that word…” Dorian tried again, and Bull waved him back impatiently.

“Why the fuck not?  You’re her legal parent, right?”

“Yes,” Dorian admitted stiffly, “But I didn’t want to assume that our relationship would be an affectionate…”

“Whatever,” the teenage girl rolled her eyes. “I want to hear the rest of the story, Bull.” Her shyness was completely forgotten in the lure of the gore. “Was it messy?”

“We were a disaster,” Bull confirmed. “Your dad had to burn his robes that night. You should have seen his face when he had to put them on again after we…”

Dorian interrupted, “And we should be heading back. Bull, a word,” he narrowed his eyes and Bull looked hurt.

“Kadan, doesn’t she know…”

“Yes,” the mage admitted. “Of course she does.”

“It’s healthy for parents to show their affection for each other in front of their children,” Bull confronted him. “I know these things. Asta lent me books.”

Dorian looked at Asta suspiciously. “I did,” she admitted. “Gave them, actually. No sign that I’ll be needing them, and Bull does. I’ve too much to do. And I really didn‘t need to store that many books in Varric‘s Keep. Whole rooms, I took up, just to have the ones I might need on this side of the Waking Sea.”

The mage narrowed his eyes at her first comment. “We’ll talk about that later,” he announced regally. “But Bull…”

Emily scoffed audibly, “Are you two sort of married or not? You have sex, I’m sure. I was a slave, and I’m not blind,” she faced them. “You’re not going to try to slink around trying to hide it, are you? ‘Cause that would be stupid,” she folded her arms and gave both her prospective parents a glare. “I was right there when you were kissing, just now,” she pointed out. “Before you knew I was there. Don‘t make this weird.”

“Definitely Fereldan,” Cullen muttered at Asta, who nodded thoughtfully.

Dorian slumped, defeated by a teenage girl, “The villa is just a few hours ride away,” he deflected. “Emily is making progress on her equestrian skills,” he made a point of saying.  "We'll be there by nightfall."

“Dorian,” Emily rolled her eyes again, “It’s going to get boring for everyone if you keep bragging. Including for me. I can’t go on being perfect forever, and when it happens, the Inquisitor and Ser Cullen and Bull are going to be disappointed. So please, just let me be me? For the record, horses scare me.  I wish I didn't need to learn.”

Bull slapped her back in approval, and nearly knocked her off her feet. She scowled at him, “Sorry,” he muttered. “Most of my friends are used to it. Maybe you could try Asuna? She‘s the dracolisk.” Emily stared at him, and then at the lizard-like creature, which snarled and spit something green at her affectionately.

“I’m thirteen,” the girl stressed. “And I’m hardly wearing any armor, other than these ridiculous robes that Dorian says are suitable for my station.” She eyed Asta. “Maybe the Inquisitor can take me shopping for something more practical,” she suggested, suddenly shy again. “I can hardly sit on a horse these skirts are so poofy,” she complained, climbing onto her horse. “Dorian’s mother despises me, and Maevaris is almost always in Qarinus. I've never had any nice things, but I‘m lost in these. At least he lets me leave behind the headgear out here, though the hoods are...” she bit off her words, lips firmly sealed together.  "I don't mean to seem ungrateful," she said very quietly.

“Dorian,” Asta began firmly, “Can I take your daughter shopping for something that means she can sit astride a horse instead of looking like she’s about to slide off?” She eyed the sidesaddle dubiously. “I know I would have no idea what I was doing if I had to ride like that.”

“No,” Dorian started, only to have Emily shrink into herself and Bull glare at him. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you can’t wear breeches to lessons, or to parties or to dinners with anyone other than family… and not shopping. The tailor I have waiting at the villa will take care of...”

“Thank you,” beamed Emily, interrupting before he could finish, recovering quickly and steering her horse slowly to face the right direction. “That will be so much better. He won’t let me wear my old clothes, but I hid them,” she confessed freely. “Because sometimes, you just have to wear something a bit practical. Dorian doesn‘t do practical.”

“I understand completely,” Asta laughed, “at least about impractical robes. I used to be a Chantry Sister. Inadequate warmth, impractical range of movement, and completely unflattering,” she assured the girl, moving her horse up to ride next to her. “Plus a really stupid hat.”

“A Sister,” the girl breathed, “I’m fascinated by the Southern Chantry. Is it true that they deny that Andraste was a mage?”

“So,” Bull rumbled at that, “They’re going to get along just fine.”

“Good,” Dorian smiled smugly, “Emily’s enthusiasm reminded me of Asta, when I met her. Never have I been asked so many questions. She was a newly emerged mage at the time, and her master was putting her up for sale. Maevaris made sure I met her before he could do anything of the sort.” His brow wrinkled in memory. “She had become a risk to herself and the family,” he confided in Cullen. “They weren’t training her properly at all. I… tried to do the right thing. The alternatives were not pretty.” Cullen nodded, his imagination providing the possibilities for a mage slave in the Imperium.

Bull frowned at him, “She seems fine now. And why exactly are you not using the word ‘dad’? If she doesn’t mind, then…”

Dorian looked uncomfortable, “I wanted to,” he admitted, “But the topic never came up, and we barely knew each other, and… then too much time had passed, perhaps, and…”

Cullen snickered, “You're afraid to ask.”

Dorian paled, “I can’t take that kind of rejection,” he hissed. “If she says ‘no’, I’ll… Fasta Vass, you’ve already seen what she’s like. I tell her ‘no’ and she acts like I‘ll hit her. I would never... But she tells me ‘no’ and I might as well hide in my room for a fortnight.  We both have a lot to overcome before we can even try to build a...”

Bull chuckled, “Kadan, she obviously likes you. All she can do is say no. I’m going to ask if she wants to call me something other than Bull.” He hesitated, “Tomorrow, or maybe after we spar. We need to get to know each other first, maybe,” he admitted. “A good fight might help that.”

Cullen laughed loud enough to make Asta turn around to look at him. “It’s nothing,” he assured her. “Go on, talk to Emily. I‘m just going to advise these two grown men that their daughter would probably like to call them by some endearment or other.”

Asta turned to Emily, “Men,” she said quietly.

Emily rolled her eyes. “You said it,” she said with emphasis. “It’s amusing though, to watch Dorian dance around the topic of whether he’s my father. It’s not that I think the ears bother him, because I know they don’t, but… he worries that I won’t like it,” she was far shyer again. “I barely knew my mother, and while I grew up in a fairly kind household, I was still a slave,” she tried to explain. “When we're out in public he makes sure to introduce me as his heir, and…”

“That would get old,” Asta said sympathetically, stuffing down her anger at the idea of a 'fairly kind household' owning slaves at all. “Having to have your presence at his side constantly justified.” 

“You have no idea,” Emily stressed, reaching out her hand to the Inquisitor, and then snatching it back as if she shouldn’t have touched her and gripping her horse's reins even more tightly.

“Relax,” Asta soothed her. “I’m touchable, I swear. It must be odd, living in a huge place with only Dorian, though. Such a massive change.”

“It’s so lonely,” Emily admitted, staring at her horse‘s neck. “I’m busy, I have so much to learn, I’m so far behind, but… the other people my age, they don’t or won’t associate with knife-ears,” she said the slur very quietly and with barely a touch of rancor. “There aren’t any people like me.” She looked up suddenly, “It’s not that I’m ungrateful! I am, I just…”

“I never had a friend my age before I joined the Inquisition,” Asta said softly. “But I’ll be yours, if you like,” she grinned. “You can complain to me when Dorian is at his worst. I’ll understand completely. And you know, the former Grand Enchanter of the Southern Circles is an elf. Dorian must have told you about Solas, who traveled with us. Just because there isn’t anyone like you in Tevinter, that you know of, doesn’t mean that you are unique in all of Thedas.”

Emily just nodded, and looked thoughtful. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 


	8. The 'Vint Gets His Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of fluff, some of it necessary.

The tailor took Cullen’s measurements, professionally ignoring his complaints. “Burgundy, definitely,” Dorian instructed him, “and gold, and a touch of dark brown. It’s a bit of a trademark for him. Don’t flinch away from fur. We don’t want to deny that he’s Fereldan, after all. Just make him look… less of a dog lord?” he finished vaguely, but the tailor nodded in complete understanding. “The Mabari goes where he goes, and we should make that apparent,” and Cullen sighed in relief, stepping down from the box, and letting Asta take his place. “But for the Inquisitor,” Dorian's face lit up in inspiration. “For the Inquisitor, we must go all out. She’s without country affiliation,” he explained. “The Inquisition is independent and she is in charge. She needs to look regal, to stand out without looking like she’s a meadow lark trying to be a flamingo, or as if she is trying too hard to fit in.” Cullen scowled at the description, but Asta relaxed in relief that Dorian understood her situation so completely. “She needs to look unique, like no one but herself.”

The tailor nodded, his face lighting up. “My wife has some excellent drawings, Magister Pavus, that would suit this exact situation. May I show her in?”

“Absolutely,” Dorian smiled with satisfaction. “You had a excellent reputation, my dear man. I know that you and I are going to have a long working relationship.”

“I hope so, Magister,” the man replied, a little too meekly. “And may I suggest at least one outfit completely in black for Ser Rutherford? I think he needs to intimidate occasionally, am I correct?”

“Exactly!” Dorian almost beamed at the man. “With a red lining, I think? Or would gold be better?”

“Gold,” the tailor assured him. “To match the ensemble I have in mind for the Inquisitor.” The men turned twin looks of appraisal at Asta who tried not to flinch.

“Dorian,” she started, a little apprehensive. “It’s not all going to be impossible for me to put on by myself, is it? Remember, only one hand. I hate having to be dependent on Cullen for…”

“Shush, amica,” Dorian waved away the start of any objections. “Trust me. Whether or not you can get dressed by yourself matters not at all compared to the impact that your presence needs to have on Minrathous.”

***

The gown’s shoulders were sculpted leather to look like feathers, molded over them and arching up to the neck of the dressmaker‘s dummy. “As elegant as a black swan,” Dorian said in satisfaction. The gown itself had a sheer black burnout velvet skirt layered over more gold underneath. “Your wife is a genius,” he told the tailor. “If you two are ever looking for a patron, I am your man,” he beamed. “I want to engage you to make my heir’s wardrobe for the summer in any case.”

“I will talk to my wife,” the man replied, a trifle stunned. “Do you wish to see the rest?”

Asta came out in a far simpler outfit, a wide brown cincher belt with five buckles that she had no hope of fastening on her own draped between her hook and her hand. “Dorian, these clothes are impossible,” she started. “I can’t even fasten the belt, much less…”

“That’s what the maid and Cullen are for,” Dorian replied. “And yes, this works!” he continued animatedly, helping her wrap the complicated buckle around herself, “Just the thing! It has the armor I requested?” He asked with delight.

“Yes, messere,” the tailor was eager to please, with a permanent offer on the table. “The belt itself is reinforced with a thin mail, that will deter assassin blades, and the jacket, while itself not reinforced, is a stiff layer of leather, as is Ser Rutherford’s.”

“Let’s see him then,” Dorian said with great anticipation, and Cullen came out from around the screen, looking sheepish. “Oh, my friend,” Dorian fanned himself a little bit. “Fasta Vass, you look…” he sighed whimsically. “You look like something out of a daydream. Asta, do you see this?”

Cullen was wearing a russet brown, tightly fitted jacket that flared out from his hips to his knees, looped around with a similar belt to Asta’s at the waist, with a fur collar that draped over his shoulders in a slightly more golden shade of brown, over very tight brown suede pants. Asta immediately paced around him.

“The jacket is too long,” she teased.

“It’s perfect,” Cullen muttered. “At least I won’t have to worry about handsy nobles.”

Dorian snorted, “You are so naïve, my friend,” and Cullen clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Asta will protect you,” he smiled reassuringly. “But what about the evening wear?”

“I will not wear… that,” Cullen growled. “What is wrong with my Inquisition uniform? Or dress armor?”

“No,” Asta replied. “Even if we hadn’t left it in Kirkwall.”

Cullen sighed. “I will not wear…”

“Let me see it at least?” Asta wheedled, winking at Dorian.

“Fine,” grumbled her husband, unable to refuse her, and made his way back to the screen, audible noises of discontent accompanying his disrobing and changing. Asta exchanged amused glances with Dorian. Cullen slunk out from behind the screen like a whipped dog, with even narrower eyes. “Do not laugh at me,” he ordered.

This outfit was completely black leather, and had a collar similar to Dorian’s, the lining golden with a crisp white shirt underneath, but fastened with golden hooks and twisted metal loops instead of buckles. The jacket’s hem fell past his knees, over black leather pants that left even less to the imagination than the brown suede of the previous one, and high black leather boots that ended just below his knees.

“What’s to laugh at?” Asta told him, breathless. “Cullen, you…” she shook her head. “All that ensemble does is make me want to remove it,” she teased. “No room at all for laughter, love. You look…” she shook her head. “Words fail me.”

“Well, I want to remove it, too,” Cullen muttered, but his mouth twitched at her compliments. “This is ridiculous. Like the villain in a melodrama, or the hero on one of Varric‘s blighted book covers.”

“Definitely not ridiculous,” Dorian reassured him. “Yes, it will more than do, though I think I prefer the prior outfit, overall, despite the fur. Now, Asta needs jewelry, and we’ll need to visit a haberdashery for the requisite headdresses for evening occasions… and I want to see the gown that is the same color as her eyes, the one with the golden net over the bodice, and Cullen‘s…”

“No more,” Cullen growled. “I will look fine.”

Dorian eyed him critically. “I suppose we can allow the crabby knight to scuttle away,” he unilaterally decided. “I will see the rest of your clothes soon enough, though, Cullen. You can‘t spend all of your time in Minrathous in that hideous cloak, after all.”

Cullen immediately closeted himself behind the screen and changed back into his usual clothes with alacrity, with only a few curses when the tight pants gave him some trouble on their way off. “Thank the Maker,” he sighed, emerging and shrugging into his usual cloak, fastening the ties at the waist.

And then Asta made her way out from behind her screen, trailing golden clouds of what looked like a fine fishnet. “Maker’s breath,” he stopped, mid-tie, transfixed. “Asta, you look…”

“I feel like I’m not wearing anything,” Asta laughed, adjusting the golden net cloak from where it hung about her neck, clasped with a sapphire brooch. The cloak - if you could call it that - had armholes instead of sleeves, and a fitted collar at the neck that left a gap over a neckline that dipped far too low for safety, and tight boning that gave way to skirts that flared out stiffly from her hips. “Dorian, I’m going to fall out of this thing.”

“No you won’t,” the tailor insisted. “My wife guarantees it will hold you in.”

“Then you are using magic,” Asta laughed openly. “Cullen, does it look absurd? I’ve never worn anything so elaborate!” She moved her head and Cullen, dumbfounded, realized that the cloak had a golden hood that was nearly invisible against her darker hair until the light hit it just right.

“You look like an Empress,” Cullen stammered. “The Queen of Ferelden herself has never looked so lovely.”

Asta blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Dorian complained. “Your hair is far too short, Asta, but my hairdresser will have something for that. Perhaps we could braid it tightly into rows underneath, with golden thread. That would be striking… since hair growth, even with magic, takes time. And we’ll need to hire someone to apply your makeup. You will need to emphasize your eyes, so either more gold or… even copper,” he mused. “Yes, copper I think. Definitely not black, with this gown.” He sighed. “But you won’t embarrass me,” he assured her. “I want to see her in the navy with the iridescent butterflies, and then the burgundy - the intimidating burgundy, not the casual, and then the other casual outfits…” he pulled the tailor aside and dropped several gold coins into his hand. “And that is a bonus,” he said bluntly. “Because you’ve earned it. Let me know about that patronage.”

Cullen took Asta’s hand, encased in a pale golden glove that ended at her wrist. “If that black thing on me made you want to remove it, this makes me want to put you on a pedestal and do nothing but look at you.”

“Hmmm,” Asta looked at him warily. “I’ve had enough of that,” she sighed. “Dorian, you don’t really want to be stuck here with me changing my clothes all afternoon, do you?” She made her way beyond the screen again, pulling Cullen with her for the assistance.

“Not particularly, but it needs to be done,” Dorian pursed his lips. “And Cullen, come out from there, that’s what the maid is for,” he complained.

“Sorry, love,” Cullen sighed, but couldn’t resist easing her out of the golden wrap and kissing her bare shoulder. “Our host says I must depart.”

“Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you in the garden,” Asta hissed. “I’m getting out of here, I don’t care if I‘m only wearing my smallclothes.”

“Stay and enjoy yourself,” Cullen urged her. “I know you like pretty clothes.”

“I like pretty clothes, but I don’t like being on display like this.  Letting Dorian decide what we should be wearing in Tevinter has created a monster!” Asta hissed back. “Don’t you dare leave me!”

Cullen chuckled, “I’ll wait in the garden,” he murmured. “May I suggest something… less casual than smallclothes?” He winked.

“Good plan,” Asta beamed and stepped gingerly out of the gown. “Dorian, don’t you think butterflies are a bit too juvenile?” She deflected, staring at the dress the maid showed her and shaking her head, pointing silently to a far more simple pair of breeches, vest and jacket, not far removed from her usual clothes at Skyhold, other than the length of the jacket.

“No, think of the symbolism!” Dorian called back, as she shifted into breeches in preparation for her escape. “You look youthful enough in any case, my dear!” Cullen slipped out the door, unnoticed, leaving her behind. “Far younger than your true age.”

“Are you saying I’m old?! You’re older than I am!”

“And me with a teenage daughter,” teased Dorian. “Age befits those of us who are parents, amica.”

“Don’t start,” Asta replied, deadly serious. “I mean it, Dorian, I can see where you are going with this from a mile away. You know it’s not going to be that easy.”

“Nothing about your life is easy, Asta,” Dorian asserted. “That is not likely to change. But I’m not going to let you just… coast over something that you both want until it wouldn’t be an issue anymore. Until you let time make the decision for you.” He waved the tailor out of the room, “We’ll pick this up another day,” he said kindly. “And please, let me know about the patronage.”

“What makes you think we haven’t already made the decision against?” Asta countered from behind the screen.

“Because I know both of you,” Dorian accused, “Cullen is petrified that he isn‘t whole enough to be a father, and you are slowly convincing yourself it shouldn’t be done for the sake of the Void-taken world. Neither of you makes sense. It’s a child, amica, not a political cause. I would put money on the fact that you’ve barely discussed it, and that you just keep taking that potion every month because it’s easier than facing the fact that you’re getting older and still aren’t sure what you really want. For all of your mutual planning, you two are extremely predictable, and I don’t want you to wake up in ten years and regret your choices! I‘m a better friend than that!”

Asta finished dressing, slipping her light jacket over her prosthesis first and then her other arm. “Don’t you think regret is largely unavoidable in my line of work?”

“Perhaps in politics, but it doesn’t have to be in your personal life,” Dorian argued. “Don’t sell yourself so short, Asta, my dear.”

Asta bristled, “Perhaps Thedas is just more important than any personal wish of mine.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Dorian said bitterly. “You’ve done nothing but encourage Cassandra, Varric, Bull, myself, Cole, all of us, to be selfish occasionally. It’s made us all _happy_. We are all still doing our part, amica. You deserve the same. Besides, I seem to remember a certain Inquisitor telling all of us that Thedas, for the most part, was monumentally stupid, and possibly unworthy of saving.”

“Cullen is enough,” Asta mumbled. “If he’s all I ever have…”

“And what happens if the lyrium takes him in the end after all? Are you going to go back to the Chantry and serve the Maker as a widow?  I'm sure Solas would love that,” Dorian said cruelly. “No one knows what will happen in five, or ten years, or even twenty minutes, my friend. If you lose him sooner than you anticipate…”

“Stop,” Asta ordered, shaken. “Just stop, Dorian!”

“No, I won’t,” he marched around the screen to stare at her. “I won’t until you two get off your pair of bloody perfect arses and talk to each other,” he stressed. “If you do that and decide against children, fine. But I won’t let my dearest friends compromise themselves like this. Your happiness is worth more than an avoided conversation, Asta.”

“You haven’t seen his face when I try to discuss it, Dorian,” Asta whispered. “I have. I don’t know how to get past that.”

Dorian snickered, “I bet you went into that discussion armed with a million and one facts and tried to tell him it was your duty to Thedas to procreate. You should have known that wasn’t the way. This is a subject that you can’t remove from emotions, my dear. This is about love, pure and simple, and whether to create another life with it, or not.”

“And our health?” Asta stared without seeing at her false arm. “How are we supposed to handle our limitations?”

“You’ll make a way. That‘s what you do,” Dorian shrugged. “People figure it out all the time - we all have limitations that we either rise above or let sink us. And you two will never, ever lack for help, whether it’s Cullen’s family, or me, or all of Skyhold, wherever you end up. We would all help you, if that’s what you decide.”

“It’s not the time,” Asta shook her head. “We’re so far from home.”

“Not for the child, perhaps,” Dorian countered bluntly, “but time past for the discussion. Don’t make me drag Bull in to mediate.” He took her shoulders and made her face him. “All teasing aside, I could,” he said softly. “Bull is the reason I adopted Emily, instead of just continuing to search for an necromancer apprentice. He told me it didn’t matter that I would have to purchase her as a slave in order to free her, and then adopt her formally, or that her skills would never match up with my own, or that I would have to have her privately tutored, because no ‘Vint Circle would admit her as a elven liberati. He told me that I wouldn’t shut up about her, and that obviously we had a connection that went beyond mere scholarship, and that I would be an idiot and cruel if I left her where she was, vulnerable to abuse and being… sold. Bull is… wise, in ways that I am not,” he admitted.

“We agree on that, at least,” Asta muttered, wondering how to make her escape.

“Good, then I’ll have Bull talk to Cullen, and we’ll make some progress,” grinned Dorian abruptly, shifting gears.

“Dorian Pavus, don’t you dare!” Asta challenged.

“Try to stop me,” Dorian tossed back. “He might be doing it at this very moment, actually.”

“No…” Asta blanched. “Dorian…”

“Someone had to,” Dorian weighed her. “Go find him then.” He stepped out of the way. “We’re done for the afternoon. I’ll see the rest soon enough.”

Asta shook her head, “I think I hate you.”

“Nonsense, I am far too loveable and charming,” Dorian laughed in her face. “Why you two are such imbeciles about life, when you are so competent in other ways…”

Asta just glared and left the room, hoping that she could intercept Bull before he could get to Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost named this chapter 'I'm Too Sexy for My Shirt', but even my corniness has a limit. :D I listened to Right Said Fred while I wrote it though, in the interest of full disclosure.
> 
> Don't worry, this whole fic isn't going to be about whether or not they will have kids. It's about a whole lot of other things, which I don't want to put in the tags because spoilers. When they come up, I'll get them in there.
> 
> I'm going to post the next chapter today, too, if I can wrangle it into a final state by the end of the day.


	9. Difficult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter - very short. But it fits better with this week, than with next week's, so up it goes.

Bull found Cullen leaning against a rustic fence with no purpose except to allow roses to climb it, in the middle of the garden, with another useless trellis for a gate at the end of a pointless path to nowhere but an isolated bench with a modicum of privacy. “Dorian must have designed this garden,” he criticized. “It’s a bloody maze in here, am I right? That Orlesian Hedge Maze gave him ideas. So, you and the Boss having kids?”

Cullen blinked and stared rather than answer, “Excuse me?”

“Are you and the Boss going to have kids?” Bull said slowly and deliberately.

“I… don’t know,” Cullen managed, glancing over Bull’s shoulder like he wanted to escape. But there was nowhere to go. “We’ve barely…”

“Ought to,” Bull grunted, “Not necessarily have kids, but talk about it, at least.” He weighed Cullen. “You want to. I can tell. Saw you with your nephews, teaching Loren how to use a sword. You want that.”

“Yes, well, that wasn’t…” Cullen sputtered, “It wasn’t… permanent. I don’t think…”

“You’d do fine,” continued Bull. “Is it the headaches and nightmares stopping you?”

“Partially,” Cullen answered after a pause. “But Asta is very focused on her work and I’m not sure she even wants…”

Bull guffawed, “You think? I can read her, not as easy as you, but some. I saw her, you know, when she found out about Cass. That was some serious envy going on. Not just about Squirt, but also about the fact that it just… happened. She’s worn out, Cullen, and she‘s too young to be feeling that way. She’s still feeling like she’s the only thing standing between Thedas and total destruction, even if that shit’s not true no more. She wants to feel like herself again, and by the time her exile is over, she‘s going to need a massive break from being the Inquisitor. The time might not be now, but you need to figure this out.”

Cullen took a breath and blew it out slowly, his head starting to ache, “Yes, well, no offense, Bull, but this is a discussion that we need to have together, not with you.”

Bull shrugged, “You’re not wrong about that, but Dorian and I could see that you two just weren’t having it. So we decided to push. Evidently we were right.”

“Holy Maker,” Cullen paled, “Tell me that Dorian isn’t up there right now telling her that she’s not getting any younger. She‘s already all too aware…”

“Why? That what Mia keeps telling you?” Bull laughed again, a deep rumble. “At least we left Max out of it. That guy doesn’t need his nose rubbed in his almost broken heart, though maybe if he had a reminder that things do work out sometimes it might help.” He pushed himself off the fence. “Well, I said my piece. Nothing else I can do, and Boss is right around the corner.”

“Cullen?” Asta looked scared as she came around the corner he had just nodded at. “Bull,” she said suspiciously, “what are you two talking about?”

“Kids,” Bull grinned at her and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m leaving,” he chuckled. “Want to go find Em anyway and see if she can take a break from all that studying to spar with her old man. I gain weight every time I come here. I think Kadan does it on purpose.” He slapped his stomach. “Suspect he likes me larger. But last time I had to go find some spiders to get myself back into shape. I should bring the Chargers along next time. Help keep me fit.”

“Old man?” Cullen managed a laugh. “That’s what you’re leaning towards?”

“Closest thing to a parent in the Qun is a Tamassran.” Bull shrugged. “Can’t see myself in that role. Won’t be around for most of it, and she’s almost grown up already. So I’m either Bull or something like ‘Old Man‘ or maybe “Chief“. Bet Krem would get a kick out of that. Not really a ‘Father’, though ‘Pop’ isn’t too bad, and I think Dorian’s holding out for ‘Dad’. Don’t want to make it confusing, after all. Kid‘s been through enough.” And he left them alone befuddled and embarrassed.

“Maker’s Breath, this is…” Cullen muttered, closing his eyes. “Asta, I assure you, I did not put Dorian up to…”

“No more than I did Bull,” Asta breathed deeply through her nose, trying to find her temper. “I could _kill_ Dorian. I’ve been avoiding the topic, because you were… and I was…”

“Exactly,” Cullen swallowed and took her hand. “I wasn’t sure if you… or if I…” his words trailed off. “I just don’t know.”

“Yes, well, I’d at least like to be back at home first,” Asta admitted. “Dorian keeps impressing upon me just how different Tevinter is from everything I’ve ever known. A whole lot more certainty in our circumstances sounds like a positive, and…” she blushed, and quit talking.

“And?” Cullen prompted.

“And then I would like to try,” she admitted, uneasily. “I don’t know how… kids are a handful with two arms - I had enough experience at the Chantry home to know that - and you don’t sleep, and I… and you…” she broke into laughter, unable to string her words together and realizing how pointless it was to keep going. “But Dorian has assured me that all these things are mere obstacles, and that I am very good at removing obstacles.”

“You would… like to?” Cullen asked quietly, and nervously. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Asta smiled at him, the freedom of relief flitting over her face. “I think so, anyway. What about you?”

“I haven’t changed my mind, even though I’m… hardly perfect,” Cullen breathed a little faster. “Bull says that I did fine with my nephews, though that wasn‘t the same… and he would hardly know. But what about your work?”

Asta shrugged, “I never intended to stay Inquisitor for the rest of my life. I could retire, but I would like to point out that men often manage to hold down a job and be a parent at the same time. So I hardly see the argument for me stopping my research just to be a…” she didn’t quite say the word. “It wouldn’t be for a while, anyway,” she finished lamely. “At least another year and a half, unless something changes at home and I can return safely. And by then I’ll be… older and it might not even be a possibility,” she pointed out uncomfortably.

“Well, if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen,” Cullen shrugged. “I meant it - if I have you, I don’t need anything else. This is strictly a… want,” he admitted. “It’s hard to justify something selfish, and I think the reason we‘ve been avoiding the topic is that we keep trying.”

“We’ve both spent too much time thinking about everyone else instead of ourselves,” Asta agreed. “I’m having the same problem.” They were comfortable together for a little while. “If we couldn’t, and decided we wanted this anyway, we could adopt,” she nearly whispered.

“We could,” Cullen agreed. “If we… wanted.” They smiled at each other, Cullen’s lopsided and a little goofy, and Asta’s slow and sweet. “So that’s settled,” he said in wonder. “Damn, Bull’s good,” he muttered. “Five minutes alone with him and something that’s bothered me for years is settled.”

“It’s been bothering you for years?“ Asta sighed, “You should have said something before. Dorian is going to be insufferable,” Asta giggled with a sudden thought. “So do you want to go somewhere and… practice?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Practice?” Cullen looked confused and then, “Oh!” He leaned in. “If you like,” he said lowly. “It could take quite a bit of practice at that. Do you think that demon of a tailor is out of our chambers by now?”

“He’s a genius,” Asta criticized. “In fact, I think you should try back on that black suit so I can peel you out of it, slowly,” she flirted, letting her eyelashes sweep down to cover her eyes drifting towards his groin. “We could pretend you’re the hero in one of Varric’s damned books.”

“For you?” Cullen laughed, “For you, I’d even wear that.” He paused, “At least the jacket is long,” he admitted. “Surely with my bottom covered, there will be less… hands?”

“Long jackets just make me curious to find out what’s underneath,” Asta leaned against him, resting her elbows against his chest.

“Well, I don’t mind your hand,” Cullen continued, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to watch you in those gowns at all,” Cullen admitted. “The pants are far too tight. It will be obvious what I’m thinking about.”

Asta laughed, “And you haven’t even seen the burgundy one yet,” she teased. “That one is positively sinful,” she assured him.

“Worse than the blue?”

“I’ll look like I could go to the Chantry in the blue, in comparison,” Asta purred, “The burgundy is far, far too much for the Chantry. Dorian says it‘s to make a statement, and to make the most of my… assets. I can‘t even imagine where I would wear it. It will look absurd on me - it‘s mostly bare skin, not fabric.”

“Andraste preserve me,” Cullen breathed. “You are going nowhere in that… creation.”

“That’s just the front,” Asta teased, enjoying herself. “You should see the back.”

“It probably doesn’t have a back,” grumbled Cullen. “You don’t need to make a spectacle of yourself to be lovely, Asta. The clothes you fight in, or the ones you wear around Skyhold are flattering enough.”

“Thank you,” Asta smiled, more than pleased, “I’m glad you think so.”

Cullen grabbed her hand and towed her back towards the house. “Now, I believe you said something about practice, and peeling me out of my breeches. I think that is considered a promise, milady. You should never break a promise.”

***

"I'll miss you, Kadan," Bull nearly blubbered.  "You be careful, and call every night."  He grasped the smaller mage tight.

"I'll miss you, too, Amatus," Dorian whispered, all choked up.  "Call as often as you like."

"And take care of Emily," Bull ordered, suddenly stern.  "She needs you, Dorian."

"I will," Dorian buried his face in Bull's shoulder.  "I should... we should..."

"Yeah," Bull grunted, and wiped his eye with his hand.  "You should.  You've got to make as much ground as possible, and Em doesn't travel fast."

The girl in question rolled her eyes, but looked sad on her own, and then Bull let go of Dorian to come and give her a hug, which she returned after a moment, far more willingly than the first.  "Mind your Dad," Bull grunted at her, and she nodded.  "If anyone can keep you safe in that snake pit it's him."  He pulled back.  "See ya, Em."

Emily smiled, sniffing, "See you, Chief."  Bull choked up a little, and hugged her again.  "Maybe next time I can go with you instead?"

Bull frowned, "I get into a lot of trouble," he warned her.  "Maybe when you're older."  He patted her on her back gently.  "I'll see ya, Boss, Cullen," he managed, still not letting the girl go.  "Don't get too attached to Minrathous."

"Say 'Hi' to Krem," Asta offered.  "And to Ros, if you see her."  She nudged Cullen.

"Tell Ros I'll write," Cullen rolled his eyes.  "When I have something to write about."

"Will do," Bull sighed and finally let his daughter go.  "All right, you all better take off.  I've got to head to Nevarra before the rumors get around again," he grumbled.  "Next time I'm bringing the Chargers."

"Oh, because that will help the rumors," Dorian contradicted, "Having an entire mercenary group within spitting distance of the Tevinter border."

"Whatever, I'm doing it anyway," Bull glared.  "And I'm warning you, if you don't check in as much as possible, I'm crossing that border and I'll..."

"You'll get me out of whatever mess I've found myself in," Dorian managed to look sad and happy at the same time.  "I'm counting on it, Amatus."  He stepped forward and into the man's arms again.  "I love you," he muttered.

"Love you, too, man," Bull murmured.  "Be careful."  He opened his eyes and looked at all of them.  "All of you, be careful."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week - Minrathous. So intimidating. I should probably tag something to the effect that I'm probably going to get massive portions of the Tevinter Imperium wrong. I've done all the research I can, but there just isn't enough out yet about its present, though there is plenty about its past. The 'Magekiller' comic helps a lot, but as it isn't finished... Oh well, that's what happens when you try to see into the future. ;) And I'm fairly certain that where I'm going with this isn't where Bioware intends to go next. Or if they do, it will be a side-plot in the game.
> 
> And the Inquisitor isn't going to be the hero, either. I prefer it that way, although a game where the Warden, the Champion and the Inquisitor get together and kick a ton of darkspawn ass would be awesome, too many chances for all but the last to be... you know, dead. :P Ah, Bioware, you delight in making us fall in love with characters which you promptly kill off in brutal ways.
> 
> And now I'll quit babbling and go do some fact checking.


	10. A Light in this Darken'd Time Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two stories I have going are going to overlap (Demands of the Champion is the other) a very little bit for here on out, until I finish that one (which confusingly, is actually set after the start of Asta's After). I apologize to those of you who are reading both. But in order to develop my headcanon, I have to do it this way. I will do my best to explain.
> 
> The story is going to get a little more interesting from here on out, for those of you who like my nutty headcanons. :D Please comment, if you think I've missed something important! It's not too late to fix it!
> 
> And I apologize if I get key components of Tevinter wrong. I'm trying really hard, but there's just not enough information yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...We have forgotten, in ignorance stumbling,  
> Only a Light in this darken'd time breaks.  
> Call to Your children, teach us Your greatness.  
> What has been forgotten has not yet been lost."
> 
> Long was his silence, 'fore it was broken.  
> "For you, song-weaver, once more I will try.  
> To My children venture, carrying wisdom,  
> If they but listen, I shall return."
> 
> -Andraste 1:11-12 (give or take a verse)  
> Property of Bioware

Solas sunk himself deep into the Fade, searching for the spirits that he knew must still be there, but as always, it was twisted, wrong, and far, far too empty.

After Wisdom’s… death, he had largely despaired of finding much positive on the other side of the Veil. Everything these people touched, they seemed to ruin. But his contact in Kirkwall - Merrill, yes, that was her name - had told him of strange singing, and he was determined to explore it.

He traveled easily enough in his dreams, and found the spot, sitting back on his haunches and watching, listening.

And there was Hope. Sweet singing, odd resonance, but Hope all the same. A small group of the spirits, warbling strangely together, but undeniably Hope.

“And here,” he muttered, confused. “At the foot of _this_ mountain, in this city of blood. How? Why?”

Other sleeping souls flitted in and out of the dream, but he ignored them - they would barely remember him, and likely assume he was a demon. These people assumed everything was a demon in the Fade. Ignorant, their minds twisted by ages of nightmares, some of them his own making. But… one of them was different, to be able to influence the Fade in this way. Who?

He tore himself away from the pleasant surprise, promising himself to return soon, to visit a far more depressing place - the Silent Plains. He remembered all too well - still stained with blood, even in ruin. His place of Pride - named after him, for all his sins, was on the edge of the Plains, and his original plots had been hatched from there - his mistakes and his downfall. It was a miserable place now - no wonder, since Dumat had literally poisoned the Fade all around. Solas felt little connection to it - just another place in Nevarra, a land that worshipped the end instead of a beginning. It felt dead and desiccated, and he doubted it would ever bloom again. But he could think here, surrounded by the imposed Silence, as he couldn‘t when he was admiring Hope‘s tentative hold on Kirkwall.

At least now, the hushed whispers were gone from this place. All too well he remembered the lingering voice, far in his past, countered with the sweet singing of _her,_ soothing and sincere, but tainted irrevocably with her last call out while she burned, begging for both his approval and Hessarian‘s sword. But now… she was well and truly dead, like so many others, and even the Inquisitor didn’t realize what a loss that had been for the world, what had been lost that day in the Dales when Wisdom had been corrupted into Pride, and he had to finally let _her_ go.

He had slept too long, in his grief, desperate to remain with what remained of _her_ in the Fade, pale shadow that she was.

He wondered idly how many threads the Inquisitor had pulled together in her attempt to reweave the ripped tapestry, and chuckled, despite his prevalent melancholy. And now, by all accounts, she had followed his advice, wonder of wonders, and had arrived in Minrathous, despite the inherent danger. “We will see, Inquisitor, if we must be enemies,” he said aloud. “The People still need me. What will you do with your time in the Imperium?” He stood, looking out over the tan-grey rubble and bare stones. “If you start a fire, I will fan the flames,” he vowed. “Your move, Inquisitor.”

And with that, he disappeared, to awaken at a distant spot in the Dales, and prepared to travel through his mirrors once more.

He would need to confront the Nightmare of his creation, soon enough. But in the meantime, he would paint. In places that she might see, messages that the People would understand, and… he chuckled again. He would choose to Hope that perhaps, this time, it would end differently. “Never again shall the People submit,” he said aloud, clenching his fists, his eyes flashing blue. “But will you realize who the People really are? Or will you just see a pair of pointed ears?”

***

The largest city in Thedas was a whirl of colors, unfamiliar and all too familiar smells, strange language and culture, and Cullen was fairly certain he had never felt so out of place, scowling around him even as people blinked at his hostile glare and gave him a very wide berth. The nearly-sentient buildings seemed to frown back at him, black and grey against the winter skies.

“What is it, love?” Asta asked, softly. “Is your head hurting?”

“That’s not it,” Cullen bit off rather harshly, facing forward, attempting to ignore the buildings that threatened him, and shrugging awkwardly inside his fur, the weather too warm for what was supposed to be winter.

“Then what is it?” She asked, curious. “I haven’t seen that scowl on your face since you found out that you were going to have to go back to Halamshiral,” her tease fell flat, however, and she took a deep breath and tried again. “It is… different, isn’t it?”

“You could say that,” Cullen agreed. “Even the air smells… off.”

“It’s the spices and the sea air,” Dorian contributed. “We _are_ on an island, and the spice market is upwind. I assure you, things will be familiar soon enough. Unlike the mess that is the map of Kirkwall, Minrathous was laid out defensively. There is a reason this city has never been taken - that bridge can be destroyed in an instant if necessary.”

“Effectively trapping us all on a little island with few outlets,” Cullen observed testily. “A lengthy siege would eventually make even this city fall, if the docks were destroyed. Especially if the Deep Roads access was collapsed. Bull told us about the embassies that the dwarves have here, and the fact that they are filled with enough supplies to feed the city for a year.” He glanced around them, the streets filled with people obviously struggling to survive. “I didn’t expect so many refugees.”

“Yes, well, luckily there is no siege, at the moment,” Dorian pointed out, frowning attractively. “There should be adequate warning, if we choose to regard it and naturally, I would, before anything of the sort occurs. And the refugee situation is improving - after the Inquisitor‘s recent victories against the Qun, they have retreated somewhat, and people are making their way back to where they came from as they can.  If they can.”  The last was muttered, and Cullen nearly winced, knowing that Dorian didn't need the weaknesses of his country pointed out.  He was a guest here - surely he could behave better than this.

Max stalked along with them wordlessly, looking around him but not commenting, just as quiet as Emily, who was staring at her feet, head deep in her hood.

“I think it’s… breathtaking. These buildings are so intricate! I've never seen such detail,” Asta tried to lift the party’s spirits. The buildings were largely dark and oppressive, but the architecture could be considered impressive, Cullen had to admit. “Dorian, will you have time to give us a city tour? Or will you have to go off immediately and do magisterial things?”

“I am mostly at your disposal,” Dorian beamed, evidently enjoying the novelty of having friends to show around. “I have a list of things, besides the library and the Proving Grounds, that you will all enjoy. I know you, at least, will appreciate it, Asta.” He carefully avoided looking at Cullen as they strode through the streets, having boarded their horses, and stored Dorian's coach on the other side of the bridge. “You, at least, are not acting like an uncultured Southerner.”

“I’m sorry,” grumbled Cullen. “I know I’m not being a good guest. I will be properly appreciative, Dorian, I swear.” He frowned at a young refugee mother and her two small children, reduced to begging - the final resort before selling themselves into slavery, he was sure - and stopped to give her a few silvers to her muttered thanks, and look of surprise.

“I certainly hope so,” Dorian countered, “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble into making this visit a positive experience for all of you, not just Asta. Cullen, I even managed to arrange an introduction for you to the Archon’s kennelmaster. Tradition says they were responsible for breeding the original Mabari before Andraste encouraged their defection to the Alamarri. The current Archon is, by reputation, a cat fancier, but the kennels are maintained, all the same.” Dane growled at the reference, but perked up his ears in interest nonetheless. “Naturally, they are known for their less intelligent hounds now, but still, I thought it might be a point of interest, for you and Dane. They have quite the little museum, and some early portraits of magisters and their dogs. Also, they have a collection of Kaddis designs, and I was sure you‘d be fascinated by that.”

“That’s very kind,” Cullen started to say, interested despite his crabby mood. “Dorian, it’s not just that it’s so… unfamiliar, it’s that everything is so… old,” he attempted to put his discomfort into words. “Even Denerim and Val Royeaux don’t have this many ancient buildings. These look like they just grew here… and the air smells like…” he bit back the end of his sentence, lest Asta worry. His wife took a deep breath at his words and paled, and he winced with the knowledge that he was too late.

“It smells like lyrium,” Asta provided reluctantly. “Dorian…”

“Well, this is an older part of town,” Dorian admitted. “The newer sections are a bit… brighter and less… potent, I’m happy to say. These are gloomy, a lot of Merchant Guild and Carta connections move through and they sell lyrium at the spice market. They sell lyrium just about everywhere,” he admitted with some hesitation. “And yes, many of the buildings were actually raised out of the earth with magic. My townhouse is in a more modern section, since I flatly refused to move in with Mother in her gloomy sepulcher. Her house is about five blocks in that,” he nodded vaguely, “direction. I hate the place.”

“We’re not going to have to meet her, are we?” Asta murmured, “I’m not sure I could manage to be polite.”  Cullen's snort echoed her sentiment.

“No worries on that account,” Dorian reassured her. “She hasn’t spoken to me for months. All the better, really.” His voice sounded happy enough. “And I won’t subject her slaves to her bad temperament after I try to pay a visit. That’s just cruel, to let them be the victims of her disappointment with me.”

“Hmm,” Asta looked at Dorian critically. “I don’t suppose as the head of House Pavus that you could just…”

“No, these are hers, not mine,” Dorian sighed. “I still don’t own slaves, Asta. One of the first things I did was liberate my father’s, making myself even more unpopular, even amongst some of the former slaves. The life of a liberati is not an easy one, even when they stay employed with the family. And I’m going to eventually beggar myself, paying fair wages,” he humphed unconvincingly, failing to meet her eyes.

Asta took his arm, and smiled at him, “Well, I’m proud of you,” she announced, “Better to be beggared and noble than rich and compromised morally,” and then stopped short, her eyes shining at a sign in the distance. “Dorian… is that…”

“Yes,” Dorian grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “That is a charming novelty called a bookstore, amica. You will be here for months, Maker willing, and I will not let you spend all your disposable income within the first five minutes of entering Minrathous proper. Another day, perhaps, we will arrange for you to be penniless?” He towed her, and Cullen followed close enough behind that Asta was propelled onward with just a few wistful looks back at the decorative storefront that openly promised the rare and out of print tomes of her deepest desires.

“You promise?” Asta asked childishly. “We’ll come back?”

“To that and many others,” Dorian vowed. “I have an entire list of quality establishments, just for you. And there’s the library, which might help you narrow down which books you actually _need_ to buy versus those which you will never look at again. We cannot allow every book in the Imperium to leave the borders, after all. The rare ones in the library are chained to the shelf, to prevent kleptomaniacs such as yourself from walking off with them.” The insult went entirely over Asta’s head, twisted as it was towards the store they were quickly leaving behind.

“Is that…” it was Cullen’s turn to stop and stare. “Is that a Circle?” Massive statues of dragons curved down over the front of the entrance stairway, largely ignored by the large number of people entering and exiting the building, openly carrying staves. A few children stood in front, in something like a uniform, goofing around with ice and electricity, only to be scolded by a stern looking woman and dragged back inside the building by their ears.

“It is _the_ Circle,” Dorian kept walking. “It’s just a few more blocks now,” he assured them. “Cullen, that is the Circle of Minrathous,” he stated bluntly. “The premier Circle in Tevinter. I don’t imagine you’d be interested in touring it?” Cullen shook his head in denial, going a little pale at the thought.  "I didn't think so."

“Which Circle do you belong to?” Max managed a question.

Dorian waffled, “I was independently educated, due to circumstances…”

“He was kicked out,” Asta nudged Dorian. “Dorian doesn’t belong to a Circle.”

“For fighting,” Cullen said blandly. “Multiple times, in different Circles, Dorian, isn’t that right?”

“You?” Max stared openly at the mild-mannered mage. “You don’t seem the sort to…”

“Yes, well, bullies are everywhere,” Dorian wasn’t smiling any more, his eyes narrowed as he stared off into the far distance, almost marching now to get past the Circle's shadow. “And I didn’t make myself… popular, and the weasels had it coming. They had nightmares for weeks. Might still, actually. Mageling fights can turn nasty quickly, especially when one of the participants has talent like myself.” Emily’s eyes were surprised, and focused on him for a moment, bright under her hood, before they disappeared again.

“Sorry to bring it up, then,” Max retreated back into his thoughts. “Just trying to make small talk.”

“And this is the floral market,” Dorian changed the subject, and Asta had to be towed back towards their party lest she be lost in the crowds milling through the many booths and shops. “I’m going to have to tie you to me with a ribbon, Asta, as one does to a toddler. Stop trying to wander off, will you?” At the edge of the shopping plaza was a store advertising botanicals, and Asta audibly moaned. “Oh, no you don’t,” Dorian grabbed at her hand, and Cullen flanked her expertly, taking her elbow. “Not until you’ve unpacked, at least,” Dorian shook his head in mock remorse. “My dear, you’ll be lost in five minutes if we leave you alone. I want you to promise you won’t leave the house without me until I say you can manage it. There are other dangers, besides getting lost.”

“I want to look,” Asta whined. “Just for a moment?”

“No,” Cullen refused. “Let’s get to the house first, at least, love?” He couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, and perhaps Dorian was right, and the air was a little less permeated with the metallic scent of lyrium, past the market. “We’re here for a while, after all.”

“We can’t know that for sure,” Asta argued. “We should make the most of every moment. I could get kicked out…” her eyes followed an impeccably dressed woman walking by with a headdress taller than her head, followed by slaves with baskets and baskets of greenery, momentarily distracted. “Dorian, I’m gawking like a tourist, aren’t I?” She asked quietly. “And am I going to have to wear something like that on my head?”

Emily giggled from her too deep hood, the first sound she had made since entering the city.

“Absolutely a tourist, amica,” Dorian sniggered. “It’s rather endearing, if it is making you seem rather provincial. But it’s hardly surprising - the Marches _are_ provincial, compared to the Imperium. All the same, do try to retain some dignity please? Even Cullen, the peasant bumpkin of a dog lord that he is, is doing a better job at staying detached. And yes, a selection of headdresses for evening attire should be waiting in your room to be fitted, along with a real hairdresser to set them properly. One who can trim Cullen’s unruly curls, as well. Marchers may appreciate the rumpled look, but better for Cullen to keep it short and therefore retain his sanity,” Dorian teased.

Cullen didn’t quite stifle his sigh of relief.

Asta struggled to find a professional mask and nearly succeeded. “I’ll try,” she breathed. “But Dorian…”

“I know,” the mage sympathized with a smile. “Minrathous is a wonder of the ages. It will never be duplicated. There are many things wrong with my country, but Minrathous‘ buildings alone are worth preservation, however they were constructed.” He looked up at a grey stone building with elaborate moldings that stretched for nearly half a block, “And we are here,” he announced proudly, striding up the stairs only to have the doors swing noiselessly open in front of him. “Welcome to my home, my friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm really going out on a limb here, obviously. There is an amulet you can pick up called 'Andraste's Wisdom', and I personally think that she was carrying Wisdom, as Solas/Fen'Harel carries Pride, and maybe others. But if you didn't like my nutty headcanons, you probably aren't still reading after half a million words of fluff, smut and head canon. lol
> 
> And that bard song 'Once We Were': 'We sat in our kingdom with Hope and Pride'... Bioware doesn't do coincidences. :P Just a theory...
> 
> Also, in the stories of the Evanuris, Fen'Harel is accused of 'bringing the Nightmare'. So that Nightmare demon in the Fade at Adamant... yeah. Thank Solas for losing whoever you lost. The Dread Wolf attracts the bugger - probably something to do with the Fade. ;) Possibly he even feeds it - considering that he admits to 'leaving food out for the giant spiders'. Yeah, again, thanks Solas.
> 
> And yet I'm trying not to make him a direct antagonist. He's more complicated than a villain from a melodrama! Ugh! I'm trying to write a fic that is possibly beyond my skill as a writer! Please, have patience with me!


	11. Collecting a Following

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asta does NOT get to visit a library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to Marika_Haliwell for pointing out that Tevene would have masculine and feminine forms of nouns! Amicus = amica, and amatus = amata. I think. Any mistakes are mine, obviously.

“Magister Pavus, Miss Pavus,” a doorman bowed. “And guests. Welcome home, messerre.” The entry was gilded and extravagant - pillars with bronze sculptures of wild animals twining around them, black and white stone tiles stretching up to stairs that divided halfway up to landings on either sides. Emily handed off her cloak and gloves without a word and nearly ran up the stairs, presumably to her own room.

“It’s good to be back,” Dorian told the doorman, stripping off his gloves and cloak and handing them to the man, and indicating that his guests should do the same. “These are my guests, Inquisitor and Ser Rutherford of the Inquisition, and Serah Trevelyan, companion to the Inquisitor,” he told the man regally. “They are to be afforded every luxury available,” he smiled with anticipation, delighting in his role as host. “And now, bring a bottle of the Silent Plains Piquette to the parlor, and have their bags carried to their rooms, please?” he instructed. “Asta, Cullen, you aren’t going to insist on unpacking for yourselves, are you?” His face seemed to indicate that would be the height of gauche.

Naturally, Cullen snorted inelegantly. “And save your people the pleasure of touching my smallclothes?” Asta giggled and Dorian scowled at their immaturity. “Let them do it,” he looked up, staring at the massive fresco on the domed ceiling of the entry, depicting what was no doubt supposed to be an overly armored Asta stretching her hand to the Breach, green light glowing around and from her. “Dorian, this is…” he gaped at the artwork.

“It’s home, away from the villa,” Dorian shrugged. “I prefer the villa. The company, you know, but we won’t speak of it here,” he led the way into the parlor off the entry and flopped himself onto a tooled leather-bound chaise across from a wall of tall windows that to Cullen just screamed vunerability in an attack. “I hate it, but we cannot,” he warned them. “I refuse to justify their ignorance with answers. They won‘t discover the truth from my mother - and she is the only one here that knows the details, aside from her lawyers, and they aren't telling.”

“We will do the same,” Asta assured him, and Cullen allowed himself to be pulled down next to her on a settee. “Dorian, whatever possessed you to paint me on your ceiling?”

Dorian shrugged, and smiled wickedly, “It seemed a good idea at the time. This way no one can forget where I’ve been for the last few years. I thought it was a good likeness,” he teased.

“There is no way my ass is that large,” Asta told him bluntly. “It must be the armor.”

“It was definitely that large in those potato sack things that we wore into the Deep Roads,” Dorian contradicted. “Serves you right, for forcing me into something so… ugly.” He smiled further, removing the sting from the words. “Now, let’s have a drink, to wash away the dust of the road, and then I will show you the house.” Another servant offered the cork, but Dorian waved him away to pour.

“The next time I make you armor I’m going to make it from Plaideweave,” Asta threatened, but took the offered glass all the same.

“I’m past the days when I have to wear the armor you supply, amica,” Dorian threw back freely. “Isn’t that obvious?” He looked at the servant, “See that Mistress Emily gets some lemonade and cookies, or something chocolate if she prefers,” he said quietly. “And let her know she doesn’t have to join us for dinner if she doesn’t feel up to it.”

Asta frowned, “Why wouldn’t she…”

“Emily prefers the freedom of the villa,” Dorian sighed. “She can be herself there, as she cannot be here, when she leaves the house. It’s miserable for us both, but I adjust back easier. Practice, you see. In time, I hope it won’t be as painful for her,” he shrugged, “Once she takes my seat, her race will not matter as much, perhaps, but Minrathous will always be lonely for her,” he sighed, his forehead wrinkling with worry. “I worry that I’ve put an unfair burden on her. I may have started out intending to make a statement, but she‘s… dear to me. She's...”

“Definitely Fereldan,” Cullen muttered. “I sympathize with her already.”

“She’s a born Tevinter, and now a citizen,” Dorian corrected, “And now I…”

“Am her family,” Asta mediated. “She can be both,” she told the two men, rolling her eyes. “Don’t shove her in a box, either of you. She didn‘t have a choice where she was born, or who her parents were, or in her circumstances, past or present. So just…”

Max interrupted at that point from his place by the window seat, “Dorian, were you expecting guests?” His body was rigid.

“Definitely not,” Dorian stood elegantly and made his way to the window, peeking out subtly. “Missed them. Oh well, the staff knows we are not at home to visitors,” he frowned, “Though why anyone would want to meet with me today, of all days…”

The noise from the entry was far louder than was polite. “Nonsense, I saw him from the street, I know he’s here, and I know that the Inquisitor is with him!” The quieter reply from the doorman didn’t seem to deter the prospective visitor at all.

“Oh, By Dumat’s Silence, it’s Petri,” Dorian slid his hand over his eyes and made his way back to his chaise, continuing to keep his eyes covered in resignation. “Of all the rude… of course he’s not going to respect the formalities. Asta, my dear, he’s been twitching since I first told him about you. I’m afraid we’ll have to admit him. He’s the Librarian responsible for your pass, so we can’t afford to offend him, and he’s an up and coming expert on the Old Gods. One of the Lucerni’s finest minds, at least in his own field. He‘s probably been staking out the house, anticipating your arrival, amica.”

“Really?” Asta’s interest was sparked. “I’d love to meet him, Dorian.  We might have things in common.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Dorian warned. “All he can talk about is…”

“Magister Pavus!” the man in question shoved the door open and entered, a dark brown mop of hair over spectacled eyes, and his hood nonchalantly pushed back to lay easily at the base of his neck. “I know you wouldn’t mind my intrusion, given my impatience to meet the woman of the hour! The hope for all Thedas! The radiant intellect that all Minrathous will be singing the praises of by the end of the month!” He turned to Asta and bowed low and regally, foot pointed forward so that his longer jacket swept backwards. “Milady Inquisitor,” he murmured, far too seductively for a librarian. “In the Imperium you have no more passionate supporter,” he looked up at her through his spectacles, and mossy eyes flashed at her through overlong and overthick lashes, shadowing tan skin that spoke of nature, not the sun. “I await with bated breath to hear your theories on the newly resurrected, and even more recently disposed of, ancient priest of Dumat. Tell me, did he really call himself the ‘Conductor’? Do you think he chose the name, intending it to refer to the lightening rod effect of his magic, or do you think he was responsible for the actual organization of the temple’s worship?” He kissed the hand she had offered for him to grasp, and let his lips linger. “Have you read the Imperial Chantry’s version of Silence? Do you have opinions upon the roles of the other magisters? Do you think any of the rest of them are going to pop up and pay you a visit?”

Asta was taken aback, looking at the man’s obviously interested, knowledgeable and intelligent eyes. “I… do not know,” she began, flustered by his easy discussion of what had taken up most of the last few years of her life. “What we know of the Dumat cult is limited to historical texts and the Chantry‘s biases, and to some degree the Champion of Kirkwall‘s interactions…”

“Tone it down,” Dorian interrupted his guest in favor of chiding his visitor. “Her husband is right there, Petri. An introduction might be in order, as well, before you attempt to sweep her off her feet with your questions and witty compliments?"

“Ah, yes,” the man looked amused at Dorian‘s insistence at following social conventions, “The ex-Templar. I would like to speak to him as well. I understand he was actually at the temple itself, and I would love to hear all about its layout…," he refocused on Cullen now, "Tell me, how intact was it, after all these years?! I‘ve always longed to take a sabbatical and do some field research, but my position…”

“It was on fire, and covered in red lyrium,” Cullen said, with great irritation. “And I would thank you to let go of my wife.”

“Just being friendly,” the man straightened, finally letting go of Asta’s hand, and glancing around, pulled a heavily embroidered chair over to sit next to both of them.

“Please, have a seat,” Dorian offered dryly and belatedly. “Inquisitor, Ser Rutherford, this is Head Archivist Petrinius, a member of the Lucerni. Petri, this is the Inquisitor and Ser Rutherford, and you‘re making an ass of yourself. Would you care for a drink?”

“Please, call me Petri.  I'll have whatever you’re having,” the man purred, never taking his eyes off of Asta. “I must say, Viscount Tethras’ book didn’t do you justice,” he complimented, who flushed in embarrassment. "You are far more lovely in person than in print. I was rather expecting you to have red hair and be six feet tall. I've never cared for gingers."

“I… thank you,” she managed, and her eyes shifted to Cullen, who immediately put his arm around her shoulder possessively in response to her silent request for support. “I think?”

“So, Magister Petrinius,” Cullen gritted out, “I understand we have you to thank for my _wife’s_ introduction into the famous library?”

“A small quest to earn the regard of such a lovely lady,” the man assured him. “I will make sure she has everything,” he paused and lowered his eyelashes modestly, “she desires. But I‘m not a magister, Ser Rutherford, or an Altus. I‘m a Laetan, if a highborn one.” Cullen frowned and cast his eyes at Dorian for an explanation.

Dorian waved his subtle request at clarification aside. “You’ll pick up the nuances of Tevinter castes soon enough, I am sure."

“I assume I will be allowed to accompany her…” Cullen narrowed his eyes, dislike of the eyelashes and the man they were attached to apparent in his suspicious frown. “Her personal safety must be guaranteed.”

The other man frowned right back, “I was hoping to join her myself. Our interests coincide, Ser Rutherford, and I’m sure you would be bored… I would be more than enough to guard her.” He raised his hand and let a frosting of ice grow across his glove.

“You’re a mage.” Now Cullen was even more unimpressed.

“Of course he is,” Dorian interjected, “All the head librarians are, Cullen, the books are too important. Don’t be an ass. A Laetan is a Mage who is not an Altus or praetori. And Petri, you should take his warning to heart. He’s not going to let her go alone. And there will be a dog to accommodate, as well.”

“A dog,” the librarian nearly bounced in his chair. “I know you said he was a dog lord, Pavus, but…” Dane growled at him, stalking out from behind the sofa in his impromptu exploration of the room, and his face lit up. “A pure-bred Mabari,” he marveled. “Oh, Ser Rutherford, we do indeed have much to discuss! Tell me, have you read The  Mabari Imperium or…”

Cullen blinked and Dorian laughed. “Mercy, how the standards of the Imperium’s archives have fallen. Used to be you‘d just conduct an interview, take a few notes..."

“Nonsense,” the man waved his teasing aside. “I do have some manners, despite my enthusiasm, Pavus. I’m not going to push myself where I’m not wanted.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Dorian drawled in his direction and shoved a glass at him. “But do attempt not to seduce my best friend. She is unused to such attention, and you’ll embarrass her and never get any of the answers you seek.”

“An innocent,” Petri smiled briefly. “How… refreshing.”

“And _married_ ,” Cullen reminded him yet again, trying to resist the urge to pick up his abnormally silent wife to carry her far away from the threat of the seductive intellectual, clear out of Minrathous if necessary. That alternative was sounding better and better.

“And unless you are interested in starting a feud or fighting a duel I would suggest you back off,” Max managed from the window, silent up to now, but constantly watchful. “Ser Rutherford is not her only defender, messerre. And I do not play by the rules.”

The archivist started and stared at the rogue who had gone largely unobserved up until now. “I can see that,” he frowned again and then shrugged. “It’s a relief to know you will be so well protected, Inquisitor,” he replied more formally. “I do hope that my lack of social graces will not keep us from having a… professional relationship?”

“Yes,” Asta finally croaked out and shifted a little closer to Cullen, who relaxed a trifle. “As for Dumat, I would love to discuss what I know of his temple and cult, but Cullen was the one who was there, not I. I was recovering from a head injury,” she smiled politely, a small reflection of her usual radiant smile, but that nevertheless stunned the librarian visibly. “I hated to miss it, but a demon called Imshael had just given me a concussion.” The man’s lips fell open in shock, but his eyes widened in what looked like glee. “Have you heard of him? He claimed to be one of the Forbidden Ones; or Forgotten, if you prefer. I believe the difference to be only a mistake in translation.”

“Oh, Petri,” Dorian laughed into his glass at the man‘s surprise and excitement. “You are in trouble, aren’t you? And over a soporati, no less. Your mother will be scandalized.” He winked at Asta and Cullen.

“It will not be the first time,” Petri smiled saucily and scooted his chair a little closer. “Now… tell me of Corypheus. I want to know… everything. And then Imshael. And after that we‘ll see what we have time for.”  His eyes swept over the room and he frowned.  "I just wish I had brought my notes."

Cullen continued to frown until after the man finally took his leave after promising his attendance at Dorian‘s small dinner party to welcome his guests, just two evenings away. “I don’t trust him,” he announced.

“Of course you don’t,” Dorian sighed, “I don’t either. For one, his interest in Asta goes far deeper than just intellectual. You’ll need to be careful, my dear,” he recommended quietly.

“Oh, please,” Asta protested. “You are addled if you think he‘s after anything but my unique perspective. He‘s just… friendly and awkward. A common enough combination in someone who spends too much time reading and not enough in company.”

“Hmmm,” Dorian looked at her and sighing, let it go, catching Cullen’s eye. “Just as well you won’t be in his company without one of us. Far too easy for you to be assassinated amongst the stacks, without proper protection. We wouldn’t want to get blood stains on the books.”

“I expected that,” Asta worried, completely ignoring Dorian‘s facetious tone. “I’m at a major disadvantage here. My arm only makes it worse. I need to assume everyone I meet is dangerous. I‘d better make sure I‘m always armed,” she nearly whispered. “I’m hardly a threat. I can't wear Fact all the time, after all. Perhaps there is a Smith here that can provide me with a concealed weapon?”

“That won’t steer you wrong,” Max said gruffly. “Look into it, Dorian. In the meantime, I’m going to have him trailed. I’m not convinced it’s just a physical attraction.” He stared at Cullen. “It would be all too easy for him to be used by someone else, even if it is.”  
  
“Good instincts,” Cullen sighed. “Thank you, Max.”

Asta approached Cullen cautiously that night as they prepared for bed. “Are you going to be all right? You seem… upset.  Is it the lyrium?”  Cullen propped the window open and stood at it, letting the fresh air drift into the room, stifling with draping fabrics, far too many pillows and a bed designed for beauty instead of comfort.

“Am I going to have to get used to that?” he asked, nearly sneering, “Fops, mages and intellectuals falling all over you?”

“No, you won’t,” she narrowed her eyes. “I will not be whored out for my cause, Cullen, no more than you would let yourself be. I protected you at the Winter Palace, and here, you will protect me.  You forget - as far as the upper classes in Tevinter are concerned, I am not a social equal.”

Cullen slumped slightly. “Perhaps if I were still a Templar,” he muttered. “If I was still taking lyrium, then that… man… wouldn’t have dared...”

“Absolutely not,” Asta grabbed his arm. “Don’t even think about it. We’ll leave tomorrow if you are even slightly tempted. Nothing is worth you taking that... poison again, Cullen. Dorian doesn‘t even keep it in the house, and he is insisting that Emily learn without it, pissing off all her tutors in the process.”

“I’d do it in a minute if I thought I could save you,” Cullen stared at her, torment in his eyes. “It’s everywhere, here, Asta. I could smell it in that... man's pores. They must drink it like a beverage.”  He fought to gain control, taking deep breaths of the fresher air to calm himself.

“I mean it, Cullen, we will leave tomorrow,” she whispered, clutching his arm tighter. “Is it too much?”

“I am… I will be fine,” he whispered, and drew her in, to rest against her forehead. “I just didn’t expect lyrium to be so… prevalent. I’m all right. I can stay as long as you need to.  And you're probably right, he's just awkward.  I just...”

“We’ll be joined at the hip, if you think it's necessary.  Max is right, this place is a dragon’s nest. I know Dorian was thorough - he has Emily to think about as well as us - but any one of the servants could be bought off,” Asta worried aloud.

“I just want to keep you safe,” Cullen tried to explain again and failed.

"Then we're in the wrong country," Asta tried to laugh.  "Come on, a good night's sleep in that massive thing that Dorian calls a bed will be just the thing."

Cullen turned towards it with a curl of his lip.  "It's even worse than that Orlesian monstrosity back at home.  What ever happened to simple?"

Asta tilted her head to look up at him.  "When we have our own house, we'll furnish it with the practical and comfortable, I promise.  In the meantime, try not to judge Dorian by his extreme tastes, love?"

***

The small dinner party two nights later was not so small, the rooms it encompassed far fuller than made Cullen comfortable.  He glowered at everyone who approached his wife’s person, Dane echoing his feelings. That man - Cullen refused to call him Petri - was in attendance, continually attempting to flank and break Dorian away from Asta’s other side.

Asta, in Cullen's opinion, was worth all the attention anyone could give her, wearing the butterfly strewn navy dress, tightly laced and boned to the point of almost overflowing, with a light cape tossed over her shoulders as a nod to modesty, and a not quite so elaborate headdress as some of the other guests. She was carrying on conversations with the various Lucerni and educated persons present easily, playing the Game just as she had been at the Winter Palace, but her hand constantly on _his_ arm, steadying both of them. She looked like she belonged here, lack of elaborately carved staff aside. If she had been born with magic, she _would_ have belonged here, and the idea gave him a pang.

She whispered to him, "You know, Dorian told me once that a Tevinter party is a failure unless there's at least one murder.  I wonder who will be the first to go?"

Cullen paled, "Maker's Breath, I hope he was exaggerating."  He scanned the assembly, and realized that except for Dorian himself, Asta was the most likely target, and his hand twitched towards the sword he had insisted on wearing.  He knew that she had secreted at least three blades on her person, and that her new prosthetic - hastily built and costing far more than either of them had been willing to spend - had a hidden blade as well. The combination would probably give her at least enough time to break away and scream for help. Her hand to hand combat training was going well, and even he had been fended off a few times, though she tended to let him overpower her, just for the fun of what happened afterward. Remembering, he chuckled, despite his foul temper and worry, shaking his head when she looked at him questioningly. “I’m just glad you were not born a mage,” he whispered. “They’d have elected you Archon.”

Asta stared at him and laughed, “What nonsense, Ser,” she leaned in against his arm with her murmured words. “I’m fairly certain the Archon has to be a man and an Imperial citizen,” her eyes twinkled with the butterflies on her dress. “Would you have me forswear the weaker sex?”

Cullen leaned in to breathe in her ear, “You are not the one who is weak.  You have me at your mercy.”

“Your sword of mercy?” Asta bantered back, steering them towards a more quiet corner, away from Dorian’s ongoing but well-bred argument with Petri about trying to monopolize the guest of honor. “I assure you, Ser Knight, I find myself at its edge far less often than I would like,” her eyes gleamed suggestively.

“How long do we have to put up with this… social event?” Cullen pulled her towards him, hands tracing up the sides of the boning, fully aware that the dress did not allow for conventional breastbands or smallclothes, since he had been the one to assist her with dressing, after he grumpily sent away the maids to make his own preparations without an audience, and not adverse to staking his claim amongst all of her admirers, the Librarian chief amongst them.

“I think you are starting to get an idea about how I felt at the Winter Palace,” Asta touched his lip gently and he kissed her finger at her unspoken bidding.

“Who are all these people?” He asked, a little too loudly. “You’ve collected quite a following.”

“At least you know I, at least, will not be accepting any marriage proposals,” Asta giggled, forgetting the importance of a public persona in the delight of flirting with him once more in public.

“Enough of that, you two,” Dorian came to steer them both away from their private-ish corner. “You know, I understand that marriage usually makes people less inclined to public displays of affection,” he criticized.

Cullen groaned, “Dorian, how much longer…”

“Hours,” the mage said bluntly. “Ser Rutherford, may I present the Kennelmaster for the Archon’s hunting dogs…” Cullen smiled eagerly despite himself, missing the man’s name in his surprise.

“That is a fine specimen,” the gruff man blustered enthusiastically but awkwardly. “Tell me, do you know his lineage?”  His appearance was neat, but hardly up to the standards of the rest of the company, and he shifted back and forth uncomfortably.

“I do not,” Cullen sighed, a trifle regretfully, wanting in a moment to put the man who obviously felt much like himself at ease. “Dane found me. He was a stray in Halamshiral.”

“Orlesian,” the dark haired man blinked. “He doesn’t have the hindquarters of the Black Fang line,” he announced positively, and paced around Dane with a practiced eye, pulling off his glove and offering a hand to the dog with a practiced gesture. “But he must have some of the Liège du Sang, with that thick neck,” he informed Cullen easily. “He’s amazing. Such muscle structure, and the eyes… you can see him thinking!” He stared at the dog, completely absorbed. “Tell me, have you thought of breeding him?” Dane tilted his head, as if confused.

“I have,” Cullen admitted, “I’ve had a few offers, actually, but I would prefer Dane…”

“No time for Mabari puppies, eh,” the man grinned. “Here, take my card. Has my address, and it will get you in the gates, and let you skip the museum. The short tour, if you prefer. Magister Pavus already arranged for you to see the historical side of things, but you’re not a scholar! You want to get your boots dirty, and talk bloodlines and so on, not moon over dusty portraits of Magister so and so with his completely inbred nut of a dog that was notorious for peeing on his staff. And while we don’t have any official Mabari left in the Imperium,” his brown eyes twinkled, as he leaned in, stroking his moustache, discomfort forgotten in the delight of sharing his work, “I have a personal project you might like to see.”

Asta tightened her hold on her husband’s arm. “I assume we would both be welcome?” she asked lightly.

“My lady Inquisitor, I would be honored,” he bowed deep. “It’s not often I get a chance to discuss my work in depth with the knowledgeable. I‘ve been trying to duplicate the original work of the Formari mage that worked with the breed, but my research isn‘t…” he sighed, and looked around, reminded of the critical eyes of the company, many watching their conversation with near disgust. “Well, that’s a discussion for another time,” he finished. “Tell me that you can visit me this week and let me inspect your dog more thoroughly?”

“Dane, is that all right with you?” Cullen addressed him directly, and Dane barked once, proudly. “He might be able to give better ideas to his lineage himself,” he told the man. “Given someone to read the charts for him. I assume he knows who his mother was…” Dane wuffed insolently. “I knew you would,” Cullen drawled, overly used to his dog handling his own affairs.

The man shifted back in awe and shock. “I had no idea,” he murmured. “Such a mind! I really must…” he shook his head. “Please, say you’ll visit,” he nearly begged. “The Imperium lost much when the bulk of the Mabari defected.” Dane muttered in the back of his throat at the accusation. “I beg your pardon,” the kennelmaster apologized. “We do tend to see things through our own eyes, though, do we not?”

Dane sat down and barked twice in derision.

“You are quite right, I will adjust my thinking,” the man bowed to the dog easily. “Your race was enslaved, was it not? One could even claim that Andraste liberated your breed.” His eyes raised to Cullen and Asta, thinking deeply. Asta raised her chin and smiled at the man openly, hearing the nuance in his words.  Cullen merely bobbed his head.

Dane panted his doggy smile, apparently revising his opinion of the man in general.

“We’ll visit later this week,” Cullen assured him. “Dane and I look forward to it.”

***

Flowers were delivered to the house the next day, much to Dorian’s disgust. “Petri just won’t give up,” he sighed. “I suppose we could just throw them away…”

“Why?” Asta touched the flowers, a riot of greenery and roses the color of orange flames. “They’re lovely, if rather… traditional. Where can I find a vase?”  Cullen bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if he was reading into the meanings or not - but surely the man wouldn't know about this side of the Inquisitor, at least?

“Accepting his offerings is a mistake,” Dorian warned her. “You’ll encourage him.”

“Nonsense,” Asta scoffed. “He’s harmless. He just wants to learn about Corypheus, and I have a unique perspective, that’s all.”

Cullen glowered, “That’s not all he wants.  Orange roses are for fascination, if I remember correctly, and those are sumac leaves for intellectual excellence, aren't they?”

Asta stared at him, surprised. “I'm sure he has no idea what they mean.  Are you jealous, Cullen?”

“Of course not,” Cullen bit off, unable to look her in the eye.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Asta attempted to reassure him, a small smile tracing her lips.

“Dorian, isn’t there someone else that can assist Asta in the library…” Cullen tried.

“I’ll try,” Dorian frowned. “Asta, I… just… be careful, will you?” Their eyes met over the flowers and Asta firmed her lips stubbornly.

“You’re both fools,” she sighed at last. “Reading into his behavior. We just have a few interests in common, that’s all. Everyone sends roses, however boring.  And when am I not careful? I’m not an idiot. It’s not like you’re going to leave me alone, in any case.”  Her protests went unchallenged, but Dorian and Cullen looked at each other wryly while she arranged the flowers cheerfully.  "In the meantime, they give a nice touch of color to the room, Dorian, don't you think?"

***

Cullen stared at what seemed like miles of kennels, eyes wide. “I…” he walked forward, and shook his head. “It’s so elaborate.”  There were dogs everywhere - large dogs, small, yapping dogs, dogs being held and dogs being trained.  His eyes glowed golden with excitement.  "You have breeds here I've never even heard of."

“Well, they aren't all ours.  We board dogs when their owners leave Minrathous and train them when they don't have the time to dedicate to their pet.  It’s amazing what money can do,” the Kennelmaster, Hermes, said dryly. “I’m nominally in charge,” he admitted, “and mostly in practice as well. They can’t duplicate my skills, even though I’m just a servus publicus*.” He looked around him with pride. “The current Archon doesn’t appreciate my work, but we’ve accomplished much, since I took charge, all the same.”

“We’ve heard that he’s a cat person,” Asta tried to be included in the conversation. “Is that true?”

Hermes shrugged, “That’s the gossip. Would explain why I’ve never seen him here. Suits me fine,” he muttered. “Lets me do my job without having to explain it to the ignorant.” He shook off his musing, “Now then, charts! And I want to have a good look at Dane, run a few tests, if he permits.” His face turned with admiration to the Mabari, nearly a mirror image of Cullen's eagerness. “I’ve tried to keep up with the lines outside of the Imperium, but it’s rough going. The King of Ferelden is remarkably closed mouthed about his kennels. I don’t suppose…” his words trailed off hopefully.

“I will write to our Ambassador,” Asta smiled willingly. “If anyone can assist you, it will be her.”  She stepped gently across a pile of dog refuse, and frowned as a slave immediately came with a bucket to clean it up and then crossed to the next deposit without being bid.  "Your people are... efficient."

"We all are," Hermes assured her.  "Nobody likes shit on their boots, milady."  Cullen stifled his amusement, but Asta openly laughed.

"I suppose not," she agreed.

***

The next day, Cullen rose early, determined to go back to the kennels, dressing quickly and urging Dane and Asta to rise. Dane pulled himself from the end of the bed eagerly enough, but Asta rolled over.

“Just go,” Asta waved him forward. “I don’t want to get up yet.”

Cullen frowned, disappointed, “I… I’d rather you came with me.”

Asta snorted, “Cullen, I love Dane. He’s a wonderful friend. But didn’t you notice that my presence yesterday was completely unnecessary? Master Hermes isn’t looking for contacts with the Inquisition, or even improving the status quo inside Tevinter, unless we can improve his relationship with King Alistair. He wants to pick your brain about the modern breed, and put Dane through his paces, and trace his bloodlines through the last eight ages. I was bored.”

“You were… bored?” Cullen looked pitiful. “But…”

Asta sighed at his disappointment, and then laughed. “So go, and enjoy yourself,” she urged, half pulling herself up against the pillows, her hair wild. “I don’t mind. And if there is one place that there won’t be an abundance of lyrium, it will be at the kennels, correct? The Master isn't the sort to indulge in such things.  Take Max, if he‘s awake. I’ll stay home and look at Dorian’s library. Maybe there will be something I can use in there.”

“You don’t mind?” Cullen came over and sat on the bed. “I don’t want to abandon you… didn't you want to stay together?”

“Max will protect you,” Asta purred, and reached up to smooth his hair back. “Go ahead, love. You’ll get a lot more out of it than I will. I’ll just make you upset when I don’t enjoy myself.”

“You’re too good to me,” Cullen murmured and kissed her hand. “I’ll be back for dinner then.”

“Have fun,” Asta let herself fall back against the copious pillows. “I’m going to sleep in.  Dorian's version of luxury is going to spoil me.”

After a late breakfast, Asta’s letter to Josie only took about a half hour.

_Dear Josie,_

_We’ve safely arrived at Dorian’s townhouse in Minrathous, and we are behaving ourselves. Really. Try not to panic. We’ve been here for five days, and we haven’t been kicked out_ or _caused an international incident about slavery or blood magic. I think it’s a new record for me. I’ve met some prominent members of the Lucerni party, and most seem rather approachable. I think you would enjoy corresponding with some of them, so I am attaching names and addresses. Use the contacts as you see fit - they look forward to hearing from you._

_We have an interesting opportunity to improve ties with Ferelden, as well, as Dorian made a point of introducing Cullen to Kennelmaster Hermes - the master of the kennels that bred the first Mabari. Is there any chance we can encourage an introduction? I’m fairly certain that they would have many things to share with each other - dogs of the same breed, you know. The kennel’s collection of Kaddis and lineage alone would probably interest the King.   But you know that I have little interest in such things, unless they apply to Dane.  Is there any chance this would help ease the strain we‘ve had since the Exalted Council?_

_You can send mail to us here for the foreseeable future. I’ll have Cullen write to Mia as soon as possible - I’m sure the letters from her have been piling up during our travel._

_Thank you for all your hard work. Let me know if there is anything I can help with, while I am here, and please… send me as much information on local manners as you have? I’m terrified I’ll use the wrong fork and get stabbed. Or poisoned. Or worse._

_Sincerely,_

_Asta_

That letter finished, and a very long day still stretching in front of her, she pulled out another sheet of parchment.

_Dear Cass and Varric,_

_I have to admit, it’s convenient to address a letter to both of you, instead of writing two. We’ve reached Minrathous, and have settled in. Dorian is keeping us to a brutal night life, the bully, but so far we‘ve been encouraged to sleep in. Cullen is as miserable as you might imagine, except for the time he’s spending at the kennels._

_I hope you are both well, and happy. Any news about when the Champion is arriving yet? Was our news about the Veil a shock to Merrill? Let me know if I can help - I’m not that far away, really, and the roads were remarkably good._

_Take care of each other. I miss you both more than I can say. Traveling just isn’t the same without our little group._

_Cassandra, say ‘Hi’ to Bernie, and ask her to write to my brother, when she has the time. He’s so unhappy. I don’t know how they left their… relationship… but from his attitude, I’m guessing he thinks it’s all but over.  If there's anything you can do from your end, please consider it?_

_Minrathous is huge, and I’ve barely seen any of it. Dorian (and Cullen, and Max) are all in fear for my life (and I can hear Varric's 'So what else is new' from here), but I’m hoping to get out soon. So far, I’ve been bored. Kennels aren’t my thing, and private dinner parties get old. Don’t tell Josie I said so - I don‘t want to hurt her feelings. Her parties are lovely, and so are Dorian’s, but however necessary being seen publicly is on the social and political fronts, that‘s not why I wanted to come. I’ve yet to reach the elusive library._

_Dorian has adopted a lovely girl as his heir, Emily. She’s talented and sweet. Oh, Varric, if you could have seen Bull when he met her... She calls him ‘Chief’, go figure - I guess he's used to that role after the Chargers. Her past is dark - but Dorian is willing to put in the effort to help her trust him. I’m sure you both can imagine the details without me spelling it out. I’m hoping to convince them both to come for your wedding. Hard to do without a date, though.  That's a hint, Cassandra._

_I’ll send a gift for Squirt as soon as Dorian deems it safe enough for me to visit a few bookstores. I am inclined at the moment to echo Cullen’s ‘This is ridiculous’, except that it isn’t. I’m definitely at a disadvantage here, until we make a few more friends. So here I remain in Dorian's house, safe and sound and wrapped in cotton wool. I can hear Cassandra’s noises of disgust from here. I know she will sympathize with me._

_Love to you both, plus Squirt,_

_Asta_

That letter took another half hour, and after Asta had dusted it with sand to help it dry, Emily entered the library with one of her tutors, who frowned at the implied disruption to their schedule. “I’m just going,” Asta assured them both, and bottled her ink up carefully. “I’ll talk to you later, Em.”

“Goodbye, Inquisitor,” Emily opened her books.

“That is the Inquisitor?” Her tutor raised an aloof eyebrow. “She doesn’t look anything like the book described.”

“Magister Pavus says you shouldn’t believe everything you read,” Emily said, and Asta couldn't help but smile at the precocious young woman before the door shut.  Emily hesitantly returned her smile before she turned her attention to the books in front of her.

"Quite right, Miss Pavus," the tutor agreed.  "Page 196, and the influence of spirits on the Veil."

And Asta was left with the remainder of what looked like a very long day stretching in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A Tevinter servus publicus is a public servant, who may be a Mage, and a slave, but serves a specific role, usually one that 'proper citizens' will not. With great debate with myself, I believe that a Kennelmaster would fall under this heading, especially in a country whose interest in dogs is far in the past, not its present.
> 
> All that is according to 'In Pursuit of Knowledge' by Brother Genitivi. We all know we can trust him. ;)
> 
> His presence at Dorian's party is a massive social faux pas, but Dorian is aware that Cullen needs to be kept happy. He's a good host, what can I say?


	12. Not Afraid of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Bard song "Once We Were" from Inquisition:
> 
> "Once we raised up our chalice in victory  
> Once we sat in the light of our dreams  
> Once we were in our homeland with strength and might  
> Once we were not afraid of the night."

Solas frowned at the blank wall. The Inquisitor had been in Minrathous for eight days and he had barely heard a whisper of her presence. Yes, Dorian had been keeping her busy, but he had expected better things. Instead, she seemed to be treating her time as a leisurely vacation, not an opportunity. Very disappointing. But it was early days yet, she had been traveling for what amounted to months, with few stops, and once she realized that he was around… Solas stared at the blank wall behind one of the kennels. He knew that the Commander had been visiting here, his People had been clear. He would carry the news quite efficiently, since the Commander would view him, as he did most people (not without cause), as a threat to his wife.  Still, the time for slow arrows had passed - what the People needed now was more.  The reference left him with a brief tang for his deceased confederate - Felessan had served his purpose - but what was done was done.

“Wolves and dogs,” Solas mused aloud, seeing the piece in his mind‘s eye, and rubbing his chin in considered thought. “Just the thing to get the Commander’s attention, don't you think, Inquisitor? Wolves, dogs, a bridge, and above it all - the Inquisition.” He took out his things, and began to sketch, several lanterns illuminating him and his chosen canvas in the too peaceful dark of the night. The dogs were all asleep, a subtle suggestion from himself, and he had set wards. His People were lingering close enough to call an alarm, but there would be no alarm.

Even the so-called Master of this kennel was a slave, his talents wasted in favor of being property to be bragged of or ignored as the Archon preferred. If he was found here, the Master would sympathize, his agents were quite clear about that, and let him leave. The sleeping spell was merely a precaution.

The latest painting would take more than one night, but by now, the news of his other paintings had reached the whispered vine of rumors that passed from slave to slave. They knew, they were watching, and it was his duty to insinuate where they might not have connected. So few could read - the pictures were far more effective than any other message, with the possible exception of songs that they didn't have time to learn, and had the benefit of being largely ignored by their masters, unlike a group of slaves whispering in corners.

By the time he had finished, there would be more than whispers. There would be a roar.

By the end of the first night, as he slipped away into the not so silent darkness to the Deep Roads entry that housed an Eluvian, there was a good beginning.

A woman and a wolf on an ancient bridge, followed by a line of dogs, and above them, the Inquisition’s symbol where the sun should be, the details to be illuminated another night. Perhaps overly obvious, but the Commander was not a subtle man. He couldn’t allow his meaning to escape an otherwise intelligent military mind.

He couldn’t come back the next night, but perhaps the night following. He had other duties, after all, and the situation in Orlais always demanded his attention. His more creative work tried to consume him, however, and he couldn’t stop his mind from working on it, even as he lowered himself to his bed and prepared himself to enter the Fade.

He would light her from behind, with the pure light of the stars, not the green of the Fade, or the yellow of the sun. And the People would know and understand the difference. 

It was time to stop fearing the dark.

***

“Eight days, Dorian,” Asta fumed at her friend where he sat at his desk trying to do some magisterial thing.  She hardly cared what at this point. “Eight days, and still I haven’t made it to the library! Parties, yes, plenty of those, and the kennel, but what about the blighted books?!” She slammed the large novel - meant to be distracting her from her continued near-imprisonment, with little success - into his desk with enough one-handed force that his saucer rattled against the polished wood.

Dorian peered over his teacup, tired, but sympathetic. “Asta, my dear, your impatience does you no credit,” he sighed. “I was trying, at your estimable husband’s request, to find you another assistant, as Petri seems to be a bit too… taken with your person. I assure you, we are just trying to keep you safe!”

“I don’t need to be kept safe from my work,” Asta huffed, and collapsed onto the chaise that Dorian unaccountably kept in his office - a perfect match to the one in the parlor. It was a lovely piece of furniture, comfortable and decorative, "Damn you to the Void, Dorian, for your impeccable taste." Today that reminder of Dorian's competence just irritated her further. “And forgive me, but while Cullen seems to be doing fine with his new best friend, I am bored, shut up in your perfectly furnished house. Can’t we…”

“No,” Dorian told her firmly. “We can’t. Just this morning Max informed me of three assassination plots. Clumsy things that would never succeed, but Josie and Cullen would never forgive me if I didn’t take adequate precautions. You will not leave this house without at least me and your husband, or at the minimum, me and your brother. You need a shield between yourself and Minrathous.” He sighed, “If Cullen says it’s acceptable I will accompany you to the flower market… and perhaps Bull could be prevailed upon to send a Charger or two to... I will ask, next we speak.”

“Cullen doesn’t get to dictate how I use my time,” Asta nearly spat, and Dorian blinked, surprised at her vehemence. “Come off it, Dorian, he’s been spending all his spare hours at the kennels,” she whined. “He and Dane, off having a marvelous time. One afternoon was enough for me. I have never been so… _bored_. Dane was at least included in the conversation! At least now he gets to play with new friends. I haven‘t met anyone except for Petri and a bunch of political stiffs that would rather use my influence instead of get to know me!”  She glared at the ceiling as if the etched copper tiles had been the ones to insist she stay put.

“Yes, well, Cullen needs to be present at the library,” Dorian set his teacup down. “You need him, Asta. With Petri absolutely determined to ignore…”

Asta snorted, “Can’t you all see through him? He’s trying to get into my head, not my smalls.”

“He’s trying to do both,” Max stalked through the door, waving a sheaf of loose paper. “I have confirmation. Stole his diary out of his bedroom, made copies, put it back. Sis, you’d do well to listen to your friends. You aren’t safe with him.”

“His diary, hmm?” Dorian looked interested. “Was it juicy?”

“Very,” Max’s eyes twinkled for a moment, eyebrows waggling, and looking more like himself than he had for a while. “I didn’t need to know that anyone thought of my sister that way, though. She and her husband in the same room are bad enough.”

“I’d tell him anything he wants to know,” Asta threw back stubbornly. “Why should he bother with the rest? It’s not like…”

“He’s…” Max bit his lip and looked at Dorian, unsure how much to share. “He seems a bit obsessed,” he admitted after Dorian nodded. “He had more than just his diary in his room. He has a copy of Varric’s book in open view… by the bed, no less…” Asta blinked rapidly, eyes wide. “Sis, he’s definitely… interested.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Dorian threw back. “Amica, you are not unattractive, for a woman…” Asta laughed at him outright, shaking her head. “It should be more of a compliment from me,” he argued, rather offended, “I give it out so rarely!”

“As in, never,” Max affirmed. “Attractive or not, Asta, you’ve got to tread lightly around this guy. Any encouragement at all and he’ll be haunting your every step, and if you think the gossip in Skyhold is bad…”

“Well, you’ve barely reached Minrathous,” Dorian finished. “Half the city will have you conducting an affair with him if you don’t watch your step.  Max, I want to read the entries.”

“So, no library without an escort,” Asta grumbled.  "I get it, you're all in this together."  Her glare was a little weaker, however.

“Exactly,” Dorian sighed with regret. “I wish I could indulge you, amica, but if anything happens to you, Cullen and Josie will literally disembowel me. I didn’t expect Cullen to find a bosom friend in Master Hermes. I nearly wish he hadn’t, though you have to admit his mood has improved since…”

“Yes, at the expense of mine,” Asta bit off, and then sighed in regret. “I’m sorry I’m so grumpy. I just… I’m not used to being… stuck in one place any longer, however luxurious. I haven‘t spent this much time in a single place since my trial, and even then I was able to at least venture from building to building.”

Max looked sympathetic. “Please, listen to us?”

“Of course,” she sighed, “I’m not stupid. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea, or for such scurrilous rumors to spread. I doubt he’s obsessed, whatever his diary says, people write all sorts of strange things in their diaries, because they are meant to be private.  I just want to do what I came here for. I have a lot of research to do, and while Dorian’s library is extensive, I disturb Emily if I’m in there during school hours. Her tutors get distracted with my presence.” She bit her lip, “I will talk to Cullen about peeling himself away from the kennels. Surely there has to be a day when he doesn’t need to go?”

***

Cullen came back that evening even more enthusiastic, “Love, you can’t believe what I learned today! Dane is…”

“About that,” Asta cut in, before he could get started on the bitches three generations back. “I was wondering if you would be free to escort Dorian and I to the library tomorrow.”

Cullen slumped, “I was hoping to go…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been neglecting you,” he realized all at once.

“Rather,” Asta agreed with narrowed eyes. “It’s been dull, and while everyone seems to be fine with you out and about on your own, despite your initial reluctance to be apart from me…” her tone turned bitter, “I’ve been unable to leave the fucking house. Dorian is busier than he realizes, Max is up to his neck in spycraft, trying to keep me fucking _safe_ from even the rumors of assassins, and I have yet to be in a single bookstore, much less the library we came here to use!” Her voice escalated.

Cullen winced. “I’m sorry,” he tried. “Can’t you go without me…”

“Not according to my brother and Dorian!” Asta fumed, her repressed frustration now being released on a safe target. “I need you to be my shield - your job description includes that, you might remember,” her voice was shrill now, as she vented a week’s worth of frustration and boredom through it. “Apparently the man you were once so jealous of has an entire diary filled with daydreams about me, and he was supposed to be my assistant at the library.  You remember the library - half my reason for visiting this fucking country?”

Cullen flinched, “I’ve really blown it,” he said aloud, staring at her flushed cheeks and clenched fist. “I’ve…”

“You have,” Asta breathed out quickly, and tried to shift her stiff shoulders and regain a reasonable tone. “Either you have to tell Max and Dorian that they are overreacting and they, as a pair or alone, are escort enough, or you will have to tear yourself away from Master Hermes. Apparently, right now, we can’t both do what we please,” she attempted to compromise, but failed, bitterly.

Cullen frowned, “They don’t think they can…”

“I am apparently not in danger from only poison and magic,” Asta reminded him. “If you are not in attendance, they fear that gossip will pair me with…” she bit her lip again.  "It's ridiculous, of course."

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “I see. He hasn’t…”

“I haven’t seen him since the party, or received anything from him since the flowers the next morning,” Asta assured him, making an effort to speak gently. “And he holds no attraction for me. But given his inclination to insert himself where he is not wanted, I require your presence, Ser Knight,” she said softly.

“I should have realized,” Cullen grumped wearily. “I… I am sorry,” he offered. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, love. And if you did… it would be my fault.”

“He doesn’t put me at ease. And it would not be your fault, it would be mine, for starting something in the first place. How many times do I have to say that I have no intention of doing so?”

“You were bored at the kennels,” Cullen approached her and held her arms gently.

“And you will be at the library,” Asta sighed, “Unfortunately, I am female, and apparently Minrathous is far less likely to assume you are having an affair with Master Hermes than they are to assume that I am writhing with Archivist Petrinius against the bookshelves. Whatever else, after all, can one do in a library, other than conduct a torrid affair?” She finished, beyond irritated and bitter once again. “I half wish I had been born a man,” she muttered irritably. “The rumors might not go away, but…"  Asta relaxed and collapsed into his chest. “Being a woman mattered less in Orlais,” she grumbled. “Perhaps because they have an Empress? Or is it not being a woman, but just that I don‘t have a second arm?  Or that I am not a mage? Or enough companions following me around?  Or is it the influence of the Southern Chantry?  Whatever it is, I miss it.”  She paled slightly.  "Forget I said that."

Cullen wrapped his arms around her back. “I’ll send a note to Hermes, and make my apologies. Perhaps we can take it in turns? One day of boredom each?”

“And I can probably remove some of the less rare items from the shelves, and arrange to return them later, with Dorian’s help,” Asta nodded against him. “It’s a deal. Thank you, Cullen.”

“We are here for you, not me,” Cullen reminded her. “I’m sorry…”

“Enough apologizing,” Asta interrupted him. “I should be glad you’ve found something in this mess of a country that interests you.” She pulled back, looking rueful, now that her outburst was over. “And I’ve been a bitch. Again. Speaking of bitches, what did you find out of interest?”

“Just that Dane is apparently of a fine stock indeed,” Cullen laughed, “I won’t bore you with the details, love. But Master Hermes wants to introduce him to several bitches of his own, and see if Dane takes to any of them.”

Asta frowned, “No forced breeding, right?”

Cullen looked shocked, “Of course not! Only if Dane wants to! He might not even want to reproduce! I wouldn‘t presume to make that decision for him.  We'll discuss it thoroughly before we get that far.”

Asta chuckled, "How do you explain to a dog the facts of life?  Wouldn't they have some sort of instinctual knowledge about the process?"

Cullen blushed, and stammered, "I have no idea.  Either way, it's bound to be an... awkward conversation."

***

Dorian sipped his fifth cup of tea that day, his eyes tired, but sparkling.  "Oh, this looks to be good," he murmured around the china.  "Thank you, Max, for humoring me.  Just what I need, considering the news from the Magisterium."

_From the journal of Archivist Petrinius:_

_She was as breathtaking as I assumed she would be, sitting in Dorian’s parlor, drinking that artisanal Silent Plains Piquette. The wine suited her - sweet and understated. I know I am a fool, to even think about her, but Fasta Vass, the way she blushed - and her eyelashes against her cheeks. I wonder if her blushes go all the way down to her magnificent breasts - so cruelly confined in that tight vest. She had just begun to speak of the God of Silence, and I was enraptured - before her dog lord of a husband butted in._

_I must get her alone. She has_ met the priest of an Old God _. Surely Dorian will not haunt her every step? Surely her ex-Templar of a husband would not…_

_But no, he is a man of sense and intelligence as well - only such a man would ever be worthy of her.  That is the only sort of man she would ever be attracted to. He is too much of both to ever allow her to be alone with me. I must admire from a distance, and yet how I can possibly not draw close? I could almost quote the Chant: ‘as a moth sees light and goes towards flame’ so shall I ‘see flame and go towards light’. Even her nickname… Asta… apparently means ‘Star’ in the Avvar tongue. How delightfully appropriate._

_Surely there is no harm in thinking of her as my ideal woman. Dorian is correct - my mother would be horrified at me thinking this way about a soporati. Mother has been patient, not arranging a marriage for me, hoping that I can find something more meaningful than just a contract, but perhaps I should tell her that with the appearance of the Inquisitor, all hope of that is gone. It would probably be kinder to myself, to take that step.  All the same, I can't bring myself to do it._

_For with one sight of her face, one conversation, I was enchanted._

Max folded the copy he had made of the crucial diary entry, an amused smile creasing itself into his lips grudgingly. “That’s not the worst of it, but it’s definitive at least.”

Dorian sniggered. “He writes like he speaks. I should drop his mother a hint. That would save Asta some struggle. Tevinter mothers - eventually they‘ll defeat even the Qun.”

“I doubt it,” Max angled himself onto the chaise. “This is a wonderful piece of furniture, Dorian. I heartily approve. In my opinion, that… man… is far beyond infatuation. I only copied the most recent entries. For the last few years, he has been researching everything he could find out about the Inquisitor, ever since word that the High Priest of Dumat was the one responsible for the Breach reached Tevinter. It started out innocent enough - wishing he could meet her, pick her brain, and so on. But now he knows enough about her to know her foibles and dislikes, and how to take advantage of them.”

Dorian sighed, “Varric has much to answer for, apparently. But Max, Asta is getting seriously annoyed with our attempts to help her. She‘s going to spontaneously combust if she has to stay here another day.”

“Quite,” Max bit off and changed the subject. “Did you look at the security reports I left on your desk?”

“Yes, thank you,” Dorian looked pleased. “You know, if you need a job, now that you are at loose ends, you’d make an excellent praesumptor*. I would hire you in a minute. I could use a good thief, and you are more than good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Max sat up. “Excuse me, I think the incline has given me a crick in my neck. I’m going for a walk.”

“Mind the assassins,” Dorian chirped facetiously, and picked up his speaking crystal to call Bull as soon as his guest closed his office door. “Amatus?” Dorian asked tentatively.

“Kadan! I just left Nevarra yesterday. I miss you…” Bull’s longing came through the crystal loud and clear.

“I miss you, too… are you eating right? Sleeping well? Killing dragons without me?” Dorian teased lightly.

“I promised I wouldn’t, Kadan. How is Em?” Bull was eager, even anxious.

“Brilliant. A star pupil, by all accounts except her dancing master. Asta wants her to help with her project, but I’m not sure…”

“Let her, if she wants. She needs to do something she finds fun, outside of school hours.” Bull was quite clear. “Just make sure she’s getting enough exercise, too.”

“But…”

“Kadan…” Bull warned, grunting a little in irritation.

“You know I can’t resist you when you sound like that. Do you want to talk to her? I could walk upstairs and get her…”

“No, I’m good. I’ll talk to her soon.  But since I have you alone, there are other things I want to ask you. Like… what are you wearing? The red silk smalls?”

“Amatus!” Dorian giggled, delighted at the naughty turn in the conversation. “I’ll never tell.”

“Definitely the red ones, then. You knew I would ask, didn‘t you, you sly thing?  Why did you call?”

"I have a favor to ask.  And before you get excited, it's not that sort of favor."

"For you, anything, Kadan.  Whatcha need?"

"Do you think you could spare a Charger or two for the cause?  I'm having a horrible time finding reliable help and..."

"If it keeps you and the Boss safe in that mess, then, fuck yeah.  I'll ask for volunteers."

"Amatus, you're too good for me," Dorian's voice grew lower and a little dangerous.  "Do you want to talk about my smalls now?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

***

_From Maxwell Trevelyan in Minrathous, to Bernadette Garvil in Kirkwall, sent by Inquisition raven_

 

_Dear Bernie,_

_Minrathous is just as much of a pit as I had expected. I was hoping that your presence would make me appreciate this country more, but instead, I’m even more disgusted. I can’t imagine why my sister would want to redeem anything about it. Dorian, by far, is the best thing to come out of Tevinter in ages. His heir is a nice enough kid, I suppose, if a bit quiet, but everything else here is…_

_I suppose I am being unfair. I'm under a lot of pressure.  There’s a prick imagining himself in love with my sister that isn’t her husband, and I‘m apparently in charge of her safety. I have the choice of either spending my days alone reading other people’s mail and private journals, going to stare at dogs - who all look alike, I swear - with Cullen, or helping my sister find yet something else to read as she goes slowly insane over not being able to leave the house alone._

_I am going crazy without you. I… wanted to apologize, for not telling you where I had been. I would have, I wanted to, only it was supposed to be kept under wraps. But the war is over now, and I would rather you know everything about where I was while we were… apart. Qarinus was just the beginning, Bern._

_I don’t want to write it in a letter, though. I’ve already admitted to a few people that I’ve been in Tevinter before, so it’s out there. I’ll write to Lace and see what I need to omit, but otherwise, I want to tell you everything._

_Dorian wants to hire me for a few jobs. I’ll probably do it, just to keep my skills up to snuff. Dorian’s training room is great for mages, but Cullen’s making noises about finding a gymnasium to give him a bit more space to train. He’d better - I think he’s starting to put on some weight. I’m joking, of course. Andraste’s Mercy, if Asta ever read this she’d gut me. But if he does, I’ll probably join him._

_I love you._

_M. T._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A praesumptor is a well-respected thief in Tevinter culture.
> 
> And you KNOW that Bull and Dorian would be having phone sex with those speaking crystals.


	13. Ink on the Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asta, finally, finally, gets to visit the library.
> 
> Chapter Title from Five Fingered Death Punch's 'Far From Home'.

The library stretched out before Asta, a large expanse of her own personal heaven in the form of scrolls, books and runes. The men accompanying her looked amused, resigned and admiring in turn while she let the awe overcome her, tracing the leather covers along the very first bookshelf with the tips of her fingers, gentle as any lover. “All in Tevene,” she said, longingly. “I’ve never seen so many untranslated works…” She took a deep breath, and let out a moan at the smell of leather bindings, old glue, dust and ink. “It’s so beautiful.” Her eyes shone as she let her head fall back to look at the floors and floors of books above her, spinning slightly to see all of it, and ignoring the various people staring at her while they moved around her to continue their work with book carts and arms of scrolls.

“I wish you would use that tone of voice with me,” Petri murmured and Cullen’s indulgent look melted into a critical scowl. He continued, slightly louder, “I would happily translate the Tevene, if you would like.”

“I read Tevene, well, modern Tevene,” Asta recovered herself, and addressed him politely and professionally, even while walking eagerly forward, staring at the signs on the ends of the shelves, pausing when she recognized an entire section that dealt with ancient Elvhen magic to scan the titles. “I don’t speak fluently, but I can read it well enough, especially with a dictionary to cover the more esoteric terms. The ancient runes, however, are a different matter. Is anyone fluent in those?”

Petri bowed his head slightly in reply, modestly failing to answer. “I will see that a Tevene to Common dictionary - one appropriate for the works you are studying - is made available for you, in that case. Now, I’ve set aside a reading room for your use - you can leave anything there that you… desire,” he quirked a small smile at her and she looked back away at the shelves and shelves of books, to hide her blush. “I’ll just haunt a corner until you need me,” he added, apparently liking her response.

“That will not be necessary,” Cullen contradicted. “I’m sure you have responsibilities beyond waiting on _my wife._ No need to keep you from them. I will…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cullen,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Petri will be far more efficient. He knows where everything is and how to get it. I will assist him, and you and Max will…”

“Provide a shield,” Max glared at the librarian. “Since certain people will not take a hint.”

Petri met the rogue’s gaze easily. “On the contrary,” he countered. “I'm very perceptive. I just choose to ignore the hints occasionally.”

“If you and Cullen are just going to sit around,” Asta ordered, breaking up the pissing match with extreme irritation, “You can help with research. You two are at least familiar with the Southern Chant, and I am starting there. I need applicable references to the Maker, and anything regarding a…” she glanced at Petri, and didn’t finish. “Well, you both know what my area of interest is,” she instructed suspiciously. “Petrinius, would you please find me a copy of the Northern Chant, specifically the oldest known version of the Verse of Silence you have, as well as any histories you have on the Evanuris, Fen’harel in particular, and…”

“Originals in Elvhen or translations?” he interrupted lightly.

“Both,” Asta threw back, a little stunned. “Andraste‘s Ass, the library has originals?! I have a few, in my personal collection at Skyhold, but they were too valuable to bring…” she shook her head before she could give away Inquisition secrets. “To work!” she ordered all of them, the inflection borrowed from her favorite ex-Commander. “Dorian, go with him,” she ordered. “Grab anything else you think might help. You know what I need,” she finished with a dismissing wave of her hand.

“For you, anything,” Dorian promised recklessly. “Come along, Petri. I will need to have words with you about your behavior. Again.” He towed the librarian away. “Honestly, man, what about ‘she’s happily married‘ do you fail to understand?” his words traced back to Asta, who blushed again, flinching slightly. “Leave her alone!” Cullen relaxed his shoulders, tight where his arms were crossed across his chest, as soon as the man was out of sight, and caught his wife looking at them with a slightly glazed look in her eyes. He smirked in response, and her flush deepened and she looked away, the line of her mouth indicating that she was still annoyed by his behavior.

“You probably should avoid ordering him around,” Max advised his sister wryly as they made their way into the room the librarian had indicated. “He seems to enjoy that.”

“That will be nearly impossible given the nature of our acquaintance,” Asta sat herself down in the chair at the head of the wide table, facing the door, and frowned at the oil lamps. “I’m going to need more light,” she said quietly, and the lamps brightened at her voice, much to her delight.

Cullen blinked with pleasant surprise, “Well, that’s… something,” he managed. “Is that something we can have the mages do at Skyhold? My former office was always dark - I bet Rylen would love it.  I bet Helisma could use more light to study by.”

“Ask Petri how it’s done,” Asta said shortly, “Perhaps it’s a simple thing to arrange?”

Dorian came back at that point, his arms full of books. “Petri is efficient,” he smiled like a shark, “whatever his personal faults. Northern Chant, Southern Chant, what he assures me is an accurate copy of Silence, claiming he did the runework himself, and translated histories of the Evanuris,” he stacked them one by one in front of her as he listed the titles precisely. “He’s filling out the requisition forms for the originals right now. I can't wait to get my hands on those.  I see you figured out the lamps. What else do you need, amica?”

“I need you to find me a text on blood magic, preferably as practiced in the Cult of Dumat,” Asta hissed at him, trying to keep it quiet. “And make it look like I’m studying something else, if possible. This is…” she warned him with a look, "And perhaps once of those silence spells that you put on tents?"

“Oh, my sweet heretic,” Dorian sighed happily, setting his hand on the wall facing the rest of the library and sinking the quieting magic into it in a moment. “It really has been too long since we spent a day reading together. Shall we?”

Asta laughed, still a little stiffly, but almost set at ease by his manner, “Let’s,” she agreed. “Cullen, would you handle the Southern Chant, and compare it to the same sections of the Northern, making notes of differences? Language only, unless the punctuation changes the meaning.”

“All right,” Cullen nodded, determined to be useful to redeem himself, and _not_ be bored. Dane laid down on the floor, and prepared to nap, resigned to a day of catching up on sleep.

“And what shall I do?”

“What you do best?“

“Thieving, then?“ Max teased, and Dorian opened his mouth to protest, but Asta beat him to the punch.

“No, I’ll handle that on my own, if necessary,“ Asta twisted her lips with amusement, “Keep an eye out for assassins and spies, and decide what we should have for lunch. I intend to send out for some, assuming they have a room here that we can eat in? I would hate to stain the books, but now that I‘m finally here, I don‘t intend to leave for something as mundane as meals unless I have to.”

“I can read, Asta,” Max complained, “And I’m more familiar with your previous research than anyone here.”

Asta looked at him a little more favorably, “That’s true,” she admitted. “I had forgotten.”

“That I can read or that I know your work backwards and forwards?” Max grumbled, with an air of resignation coloring his words.

Asta narrowed her eyes, glinting with a challenge. “All right, brother of mine, if you’re so knowledgeable, tell me, do you think it’s worthwhile to investigate the Titans and how they compare to the Forgotten Ones? Or should we just focus on the Evanuris and the Old Gods of Tevinter? Oh, and do you think I should concentrate on the Northern Chant‘s version of Silence, as Petri… Petrinius suggested when we met?”

“The Forgotten, or possibly Forbidden, depending on the translation, Ones are not your primary focus in this project, are they?” Max replied easily, “Except as Fen’Harel reportedly locked them away. So I would recommend that you narrow your focus, at least for now, to merely include the Evanuris, referring back to the Tevene Old Gods and Forgotten Ones only if you must. Assuming you wish to concentrate up front on Fen’Harel and the possible threat he represents, versus your more recent theory of Andraste being a…” his words trailed off at the shocked and far more respectful gazes coming from Cullen and Dorian. “Maker’s Breath, I spent over a decade reading her research in secret,” he reminded them, irritated at being underestimated. “ _I_ should be her assistant, I know enough!”

“I do have more than one area of interest,” Asta agreed. “And I do need all the information I can get on Fen’Harel. But this is also probably my only chance to actually research Andraste’s… specialties…” her voice trailed off. “We’ll do both,” she announced, and Cullen groaned, the number of trips to the library multiplying tenfold in his head. “Change of plans: Max is in charge of my previous research,” she grinned evilly at her brother, “regarding the old gods. Maybe he’ll learn to get along with Petri that way. It would be pleasant if at least one of you would, and I have no hope of Cullen. The two of you,” she indicated Dorian and Cullen, “will research Fen’Harel and the Maker, drawing parallels until your brains ooze out your ears, and then we will go home,” she teased, “take a day off, with whatever Petri can arrange for Dorian to borrow, promising his own blood if necessary, so that I stay busy and happy tomorrow while Cullen hangs out in the doghouse with Dane,” she smiled at her husband, indulgently and forgivingly, “and then we'll all come back the following day to start over again.”

“That takes you out of the equation,” Cullen leaned across the wide table at her, grinning foolishly in response, happy that she was forgiving him his earlier behavior. “What will you be doing, Inquisitor?”

“Researching Andraste and blood magic, and confirming anything that any of you think is important,” she firmed her mouth. “And hoping that I can disguise my research enough that nobody in the fucking Imperium realizes what I’m studying.” Her voice was quiet as she reminded them again, “To work?”

A couple of hours passed before Asta sat up straight and stared at the page with a happy squeak. “Dorian, look at this!” she squealed. “Cullen, I’ve found a possible link!” She tapped her husband’s arm with her hand in excitement.

Her husband blinked, refocusing and shifted his eyes away from his page, filled with neat notes. “That was quick.”

“It’s the acolyte!” She beamed, as if that explained everything, and grabbed a sheet of paper. “Andraste wasn’t one of the seven magisters,” she emphasized. “The Dissonant Verse of Silence has a complete list - and there isn‘t room for her, unless she had talents heretofore unexpected. They were the Conductor - Corypheus,” she explained to the non-Tevene speakers in the room, “the Architect, the Watchman, the Forgewright, the Appraiser, the Augur, and the Madman,” she announced triumphantly. “Not a singer in the bunch.  But the nameless acolyte in Silence was an acolyte of _The God of Silence_ , Dumat!” She flung her arms around Cullen’s neck and kissed his cheek in excitement. “The Chant says that there were a hundred sacrifices, but only 99 were performed - only one stopped and questioned the point of glory ‘at such a price’,” she continued, “and then that acolyte fled to the Archon, who wasn’t the support they were hoping for,” she said softly. “She wasn’t a slave, exactly, but she was bound to a god, the god Dumat. And after that… she couldn’t hear her god any longer,” she nearly whispered, eyes whizzing back and forth across the page. “Yes, Silence says ‘he heard only himself and jealous spirits’. I wonder if that’s why she sang - to fill the place where the hushed whispers used to be? But definitely a mage,” she pronounced, positively. “And who would have that have been, if not Andraste herself, all inaccurate pronouns aside! And then, at her death, ‘Let mine be the last sacrifice…’” Her voice trailed off in wonder. “How would she have known the last sacrifice wasn't performed, otherwise?  She was the acolyte, and the Chantry purposefully left her initial role in the sundering vague because they didn’t want anyone to know that she served Dumat… and eventually declared the verse Dissonant, to keep people from realizing the truth.”  She snorted in disgust, "Fuck the Chantry for a bunch of liars.  Manipulative bastards."

Cullen looked confused, “But I thought you said she was a blood mage?”

“She was,” Asta jiggled his arm with continued excitement, even in her awe and disgust. “She served a god whose altars ‘never ran dry’ with sacrifices. So… she must have been.” She grew sober, reading further. “And then the Maker turned his face away, after the ‘Veil shattered like glass‘,” she shuddered with a sudden memory. “Like glass…”

“Like the Eluvian in the Arbor Wilds,” Dorian said, awed. “Shattered like glass, even though it wasn‘t any such material. And Asta… those shards…”

She nodded, rattled. “The shards, Dorian. Those fucking _singing_ shards that we had to use to unlock the Temples in Solasan and in the Frostbacks, that we drug back from all corners of Thedas.” She gripped the table. “It’s another connection to Fen‘Harel and the person or being we call the Maker. But why did we need the skull of a Tranquil to find them?” she hissed, confused once more, her brow furrowed deep with thought. “Back to work. We’re on the way, I can feel it.” She didn’t refer to her books again, however, beginning to scribble madly on the paper she had pulled out. “Keep going,” she urged them. “I’m just going to get this down before I forget it. It’s too important. ‘Let mine be the last sacrifice…’” she muttered once more. “It’s all tied up in that. She was the last sacrifice, the one she refused to perform to open the Golden City. But as a result, she became the sacrifice instead. But a willing one.  The last death - the one that ended everything and started even more."

Dorian stood up, “I think you’re going to need a copy of some of Genitivi’s works and possibly Sister Petrine’s. I was pleasantly surprised at some of her conclusions. Almost objective for a Southern scholar. I have some at home, but I’ll pull the ones I don’t have.”

“Excellent,” Asta’s eyes narrowed, never looking up from her writing. “Thank you, Dorian.  Especially The Ancient North, if you please.  I'm going to need to refresh some background history, I think.”

***

Many hours later Asta shifted in her seat, pages and pages of notes on Andraste blurring her eyes. “I’m shot,” she announced bluntly, without looking up at first. “I need a stiff drink, something to eat, and to rest my eyes.” She looked around her blearily, rubbing her eyes to clear them, and realized that they all, except for Dorian, were fast asleep. “Dorian, how late is it?” Dorian looked up and blinked at her, his eyes refocusing from the crabbed print in his ancient book with difficulty.

“Poor dears,” he muttered, amused at the sight of their friends, and rolling his neck to loosen it. “I guess I’m still the only man that can keep up with your stamina in the library, amica. But I have no idea how late it is,” he admitted. “Let me go check, shall I? Wake up one of them… while I go find… Fasta Vass, where _is_ Petri?” He asked himself, irritated, standing up and leaving to go search. “Always around when you don’t want him, and never when you do. If he‘s gotten himself buried in his office again…”

Asta stretched as his voice faded into the depths of the library, and her eyes fell upon the book on ancient blood magic that Dorian had slipped her to help compare the blood references in the Chant to known spells. She slid it gently into her satchel, begging the forgiveness of any god that might smite book thieves, before turning to her husband. “Cullen,” Asta shook him gently. “Cullen…” she sighed, resigned, “Commander!” He jerked awake.

“Oh, Maker,” he groaned, “my neck is killing me. Didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he muttered, looking guilty, eyes sad at his apparent failure at not being bored. “Sorry.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Asta laughed, smoothing his hair back from where it was sticking up and moving down to rub his neck and his scalp under the edge of his hair. She indicated her brother with a nod of her chin. “Max is still out. Dorian is searching for Petrinius.”

“Can we just leave him lost?” Cullen groaned into her fingers. “Maker’s Breath, that feels good. More, please, love?”

“I’ll give you a full neck rub once we’re back at the house, if you‘ll do the same for me,” Asta promised. “You made wonderful progress, before you passed out. And I‘ve got a solid start.” The pages and pages of notes in front of her spoke of more than a start, but Cullen let it go with the feel of her fingers on his neck, used to his wife underestimating her progress.

Dorian returned, still grumpy, with the eager librarian, still wide awake and fingers stained with ink. “Found him, and it’s well after dark,” the magister grumbled. “I’ll have missed dinner with Emily,” regret leaked through his voice. “We need to keep better track of time, my dear Inquisitor,” he told her. “I do have obligations, after all.”

“We’ll bring her next time,” Asta offered. “This is her heritage - she should learn the legends, and hopefully the truth, if we discover it. I doubt her tutors are taking that into account.  Most histories of the fall of Elvhenan are a bunch of lies. And maybe she'll remind us to take breaks and eat.”

“I’ll have a clock moved in, as well,” Petri offered willingly.

“The key,” Asta held out her hand. “This room will lock, will it not?”

The Archivist huffed, and waved his hand, ice fog tracing through the air. “I’ll ward the room myself,” he assured her.

“No, I will,” Dorian scowled, “And we’ll lock it as well, and Asta will keep the key.”

“So suspicious,” the man murmured. “And demanding. I’ve been filling out forms for hours for you, milady Inquisitor,” he assured her. “The first of the rare books and scrolls should be available to you on your next visit. I‘ll see that the processing is prioritized for your needs.” He offered her the key, capitulating, and Asta dropped it into her pocket.  "And I've requested that you be granted personal access to the oldest section of the library.  It might not be granted, but... well, I think you would find it useful." 

“That’s what he was doing when I found him, apparently still filling out paperwork,” Dorian looked mildly disgusted at the amount of forms he had found on the man‘s desk. “No way of telling the truth of it, I suppose.”

“We’ll have to believe you then,” Asta agreed, making a note of her place in the Chant and closing the book firmly, stacking others neatly and efficiently.

“I assure you, I want nothing more than to earn your trust,” the Archivist bowed. “May I expect you back tomorrow?”

“We are otherwise engaged,” Asta declared regally, taking her husband’s arm. “We will not return until the day after tomorrow.” Petri’s face fell. “We will see you then? Thank you for your assistance today, messerre,” she added a trifle more gently, taking the key back out of her pocket. “It would have taken us far, far longer to find what we needed without your help.”

“I am at your disposal,” Petri repeated, looking subtly reassured, and watched her lock the door, Dorian ward it, twice, and set an airtight seal on it, while she placed a stack of paperwork into her satchel and fastened it carefully around the stolen book. “Until we meet again.”

***

Petri, awkward and frowing, showed up at the house the next morning during breakfast. “Good morning,” he fidgeted when shown into the dining room, glancing from face to face warily.

“What brings you here so early, Petri?” Dorian was surprised. “We didn't expect you until tomorrow.  Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

“No… I’m here on… business,” the librarian admitted, his eyes shifting away. “A… certain book is unaccounted for, and the library’s wards were breached last night.” His eyes landed on Asta, her mask in place, all but her eyes hidden behind her teacup. “At the time your party left the library.”

“Fasta Vass,” Dorian cursed, and glared at Asta in unison with her husband and brother. “Asta?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Asta's air of offense was almost tangible.

“Come off it, Sis,” Max sighed, “I thought your bag looked heavy. What was in there?”

“The book in question is a tome on blood magic as practiced in the Cult of Silence,” Petri informed them, even more stone faced now, standing as stiff as a golem in accusation.

Dorian’s head bowed until it met his hand, and his Tevene cursing increased in fluidity and volume. “Festis bei umo canavarum*, Asta. Kaffas. _Vishante_ Kaffas.” Asta began to look ashamed.

Cullen frowned with the intensity of his disapproval. “Asta, you stole a book on _blood magic_?”

“So quick to suspect…” Asta tried again, “I’m not a mage, Petrinius, why would I need…”

“Exactly,” Petri bit off. “I was under the impression that you were researching Fen‘Harel and the Evanuris, Inquisitor. In the Imperium, blood magic is illegal by law, if not in practice, and I watch the books involved very, very closely, even more so now that the Venatori have appeared.” Now her guilt was apparent in her shifty eyes and pouting mouth. “Inquisitor, I will have to insist that the book is returned.”

“I…” Asta gave up, and stood, shifting the volume out from under the back of her jacket, where it rested at the small of her back, and holding it in front of her meekly. “I understand, Archivist Petrinius. I… apologize," she started, as meek and as guilty as a small child caught stealing sweets. “I will not remove a book again without authorization.”

“And I insist on knowing exactly what you are trying to research, or you’re never setting foot in _my_ library again,” Petri added coldly. “I am here this morning as a personal favor for a friend, and for a woman that I believe has the Imperium’s best interests in mind, rather than calling in the Templars directly on a foreigner and soporati who is ignorant of our laws and customs.”

“What are you going to do, fine me?” Asta threw back, handing him the book quickly with narrowed eyes hiding her real concern.

Dorian braced himself on the table to stop himself from lunging out of his chair, “The penalty for blood magic is death, Asta.  Why do you think the unpopular are so quickly labeled blood mages? There are far too many people who would conveniently ignore the fact you are not a mage in favor of having you out of the way. All too recently you bore a mark that allowed you to perform something very like magic, after all, if not precisely with the amount of control most mages show.”

“And the cost of stealing a book from my library is a lifetime ban,” Petri added. “We don’t mess around with our collection, Inquisitor.”

“Asta,” Cullen looked disappointed, “You should know better. I wouldn‘t have thought you‘d ever…”

Asta humphed. “Cullen, you know what I’m studying isn‘t for common knowledge…”

“I can guess,” Petri interrupted. “You think there is a connection, don’t you? Between blood magic and Fen’Harel?”

“Not exactly,” Asta prevaricated. “It’s a bit more…”

“Whatever you are investigating, you need a mage and a scholar,” Petri demanded. “I can tell you anything you need to know about the subject, if Pavus cannot. In the Imperium, every mage knows the basics of blood magic, whether we practice it or not, and I specialize in the theories surrounding the magic of the Old Gods. You only needed to _ask_.”

Asta, looking around the table and finding absolutely no support for her crime, since even Emily was staring aghast at her presumption at removing a book from the sacred library, gave up entirely, slumping back into her seat. “Fine,” she whined. “Petri… may I call you Petri?” At the librarian’s nod she continued, “I am trying to build an argument that Andraste was a blood mage. Yesterday I discovered the mention of an ‘acolyte’ in Silences, one who fled to the Archon rather than commit the last sacrifice necessary for Corypheus.”

Petri pulled out a chair and sat down without being invited, “Fascinating,” he nearly sparkled, tucking the small book into his lap. “You think Andraste was the acolyte. Stupid pronouns, sloppy translations from ancient Tevene runes… almost impossible to tell gender from those things, anyway, and no one would want to draw attention to the Holy Andraste being bound as a slave to an Old God… there is all the excuse in the world to make an ever so minor change rather than delete it from the text entirely…”

“Exactly,” Asta hitched her chair closer to the table, leaning across it eagerly. “That’s exactly what I think! In the South, they’ve removed so much of the Chant from common use that it barely makes sense. But this makes sense. I have a host of other theories, as well - did you know that the Avvar call their clan mages ‘Augurs'? Why is that, do you think?”

“No…” Petri’s face was a wonder, “You think that _the_ Augur might have been…”

“The Imperium’s border stretched far into the Frostbacks. A professor friend of mine has found the ruins,” Asta reminded him. “Could Maferath have been…”

“Maferath…” Petri shook his head, “No, that doesn’t add up. If we are using the Chant as a guide to the truth, if not the truth itself, Andraste fled to the Alamarri, and Maferath was a warlord, not…”

“She was hearing ‘jealous spirits,’ if she was the acolyte,” Asta pointed out. “You probably know Silence better than anyone in Thedas, Petri. Maferath was influenced by 'spite'.  What does that tell you about Maferath?”

“Jealous spirits.  Envy…” the man breathed. “He fell to…” he spun to Cullen. “Was it true? In Tethras’ book, it said that the Bull’s Chargers took down an Envy demon in Ferelden… that the demon had taken the form of other people, prominent, well known people.”

“All true,” Cullen admitted grudgingly. “Though I wasn’t present, I believe the men that were. And Asta witnessed the replacement of the Lord Seeker…”

“I had it from the mouth of the original, that he allowed himself to be replaced by an Envy demon,” Asta assured him. “Whether the Augur in question was actually Maferath, or his replacement, it does explain why Maferath, supposedly a barbarian chieftain, would have had such an easy access to the Archon when he betrayed Andraste. I can‘t imagine that the Ferryman would have made himself so accessible, even in those years. Especially during a time of war, and to the enemy's war leader himself.  The Chant only speaks of a hesitation by the Archon before agreeing to meet him.”

Petri’s face pinched. “You’re going to get yourself killed. You are suggesting that the Betrayer was a betrayer twice over, at _least_. Once to the Archon and once to his wife.”

Asta nodded, not without regret, “Unless Andraste went into the situation with her eyes open, which is possible.  She did say, 'Let mine be the last sacrifice,' after all.  And he was ultimately betrayed himself, by the demon he dealt with.”

“No wonder your Chantry hates you,” Petri added helpfully, with a look of worried awe.  "You go beyond heresy and into the territory of open treason.  Is nothing sacred to you?"

“You said it,” Max mumbled into his tea cup. “That's my sister, Chantry enemy number one.  Never been so proud.” Cullen grumbled in agreement, scowling around his tea at the man‘s open concern.  "And the answer you are looking for is 'No.  There isn't.'"  Asta opened her mouth to deny it, but never got a chance.

The librarian turned to Dorian, filled with urgency, “You need more security,” he ordered. “Honestly, Pavus, what were you thinking, bringing the Inquisitor here with just a couple of friends? Do you honestly think that our Chantry is going to be any more lenient than the South?!  Quite the contrary!”

“I’m working on that,” Dorian argued. “Reliable people are hard to come by, and the person I trust most to protect her can’t enter the country. Her usual bodyguard is a…” he shut his mouth abruptly, refusing to insult Bull with the phrase Petri would understand.

“Tal-Vashoth mercenary,” Petri sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I did read the book, you know. I’m familiar with the Inquisitor’s inner circle. I think I’ll take that cup of tea after all. I’m not leaving this house until I have the whole story, and Asta has signed the form I have on me allowing her to remove the book in question from the premises. I dated it yesterday,” he smirked, taking the book back out of his bag and placing it on the table, safely out of the way of possible spillage. “And no one else knows the book is missing but me.”

Asta glared at him with grudging respect, “You set me up.”  A grin tried to show itself around the edges of her mouth, but was quickly suppressed.

Petri smiled with satisfaction. “I had to know your real goal, Inquisitor,” he grinned. “Do you blame me?”

“Maker preserve me from rebellious archivists,” Cullen cursed, staring Petri down and then glaring at his wife. “You’ll all be the death of me.”

“You married her,” Max pointed out, taking another sip of his tea.

“You encouraged me,” Cullen countered.

“I had something to do with that too,” Dorian argued.  "Place the blame where it is due, Commander."

“You’re one of them,” Cullen threw back. “You’re all in it together, plotting and weaving your little plans to change the world.” He saw the satisfaction on all three faces, smug as the cats who stole the cream. “Oh, for the love of Andraste’s ankle mole**,” he protested.

“To knowledge?” Petri lifted his cup of tea.

“To fact,” Asta laughed, raising hers and winking at her husband, biting her lip in nearly open amusement.

“To the truth,” Dorian finished, smirking. “Care to join us, Commander, Max? The wine at our increasingly frequent meetings is excellent. I select it myself.”

“Damn it to the Void,” Cullen muttered. “Yes, I will. If for no other reason then to save you all from your own imbecility. And damn it, Dorian, don‘t you have any damn coffee in the house? This tea might as well be dishwater.” He slammed his cup down into his fragile saucer with too much force.

All three rebellious archivists looked offended. “I am not an imbecile,” Dorian huffed. “And I’ll ask you to take care with my china. It was imported from Seheron. I can‘t just replace it.”

“I’m brilliant,” Petri assured him, just as irritated. “Everyone says so. Placed first in my class, graduated several years earlier than expected, covered in laurels, and I’m the youngest Head Librarian ever appointed. Also humble, of course.” He grinned, mossy eyes gleaming, and winked over his teacup at Asta who laughed outright.

“Cullen…” she started to wheedle, “You don’t really think any of us are…”

“Oh, you’re all too intelligent for your own good,” he admitted, glowering. “But not a one of you has a single ounce of common sense or sense of self-preservation. I’ll be herding you all like cats at this rate, trying to save you from yourselves.”

“Thank you,” Asta squeezed his arm, and pecked his cheek sweetly. “You know I appreciate it.”

Cullen shook his head, but melted slightly at her open affection. “I’m still not leaving you alone with _him_ ,” he muttered in her ear.

“I’d expect no less,” Asta murmured in reply, kissed his cheek again, and shoved the newly delivered carafe of coffee in his general direction. “Drink it,” she laughed. “Or you’ll be a mess for Master Hermes and Dane will run circles around you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Marika_Haliwell for suggesting that Asta get caught stealing a book!
> 
> *means approximately, 'you'll be the death of me', according to the wiki.
> 
> **still not my curse. Chanterie used it as a curse first, and MaryDragon gave Andraste an ankle mole in the first place in her story 'Keep to the Stars'. I'm using it with permission. And read that story. She's wrapping it up now, and it's fantastic.


	14. Words of the Prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Simon and Garkunkel's 'Sound of Silence':
> 
> “The words of the prophet   
> are written on the subway walls   
> and tenement halls   
> and whisper in the sound of silence.”

Cullen watched Dane with the other dogs in the fenced yard, playing and having the time of his life, and trying to draw a young brindled female into the game, nudging a ball at her with his nose and waggling his backside with enthusiasm. “I think he likes her,” he laughed, amused by his antics.

“Hmm, that could be arranged, perhaps,” Hermes nodded thoughtfully. “But… she’s a valuable dog,” he slanted an eye at Cullen. “Her first litter is expected to be exceptional.”

Cullen nodded, downcast. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t be able to pay for the privilege of keeping the litter,” he sighed, “Whatever people think, the Inquisitor and I do not have a private fortune.”

“That’s hardly what I would ask,” Hermes assured him, indicating the other side of the fence from the other attendants. “Her line is my project, and despite the fact that I am not supposed to own private property…” his words trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes, focusing with determination on the two dogs now openly chasing each other around the yard. “I think of them all as mine. However dangerous it is to admit.” Cullen could see the beads of sweat forming on his friend’s forehead and frowned.

“Meaning?”

“I would not ask money,” Hermes said quickly, walking faster, keeping time with his voice. “What I want… is _out_.” He met Cullen’s eyes. “Can you and the Inquisitor manage that? Me, _and_ my dogs.”

Cullen looked over the dozen or so dogs, longer hair marking them as not quite Mabari, but otherwise… so close. “All of them?”  He tried to moderate his tone, with some success.

“They are nothing more than slaves here,” stressed the Kennelmaster. “I would spare them from that, Ser. They are not as intelligent as your Dane, I know, but they are hardly just… animals, either. They will never be appreciated as they should be. And I have reason…” he caught his breath and his words abruptly. “I want to trust you. But perhaps we are all mistaken…” he glanced around him briefly, and noting that everyone else was involved in their appointed tasks, drew Cullen behind the kennels to face the mural so recently finished.

Cullen swallowed a curse. “Maker’s Breath,” he muttered. “He’s… That son of a bitch…” His eyes swept over the Inquisition symbol in the place of the sun, such an obvious eclipse of the Chantry, and the woman, clearly meant to be his wife, given the lack of left arm, eerily illuminated from behind with a paint full of sparkles that he had never seen used before. “Fen’Harel,” he clenched his jaw. “How long has this…”

“It appeared overnight, bit by bit, but was finished two nights ago, or at least there hasn't been any changes since then. We have all… slept very soundly,” Hermes hissed, his eyes constantly moving in a search all around them for anyone that might be looking. “We have not drawn attention to it, but do you see why…”

Cullen looked at the wolf with too many eyes next to Asta on the bridge, and the line of dogs that followed her, a multitude that stretched back to a distant island city.  Minrathous, he had no doubt. “I do see,” he admitted. “And she would be… sympathetic, Hermes. But the Inquisitor is not here to…”

“I suspected as much,” Hermes muttered, “and I know, believe me, what I ask, and what you would risk. I _know._ I risk as much or more. _"_ He drew him back towards the pen, briskly but maintaining an air of light conversation, a mask as good as any Orlesian’s or better in place, despite the sheen of sweat on his face. “Is she being used? I’m a slave, Ser Cullen. I understand all too well how people can end up in places we do not wish to be.”

Cullen nodded in understanding, sorrow crossing his face - damning his own face for being unable to keep itself neutral - as he watched Dane showing off, tossing a chew toy in the air and catching it back in his teeth, watched by the brindled female with interest and what might have been a canine form of amusement. “I’ll talk to a few people and see what I can do,” he said in a undertone that was meant to come off as light, but came out far too seriously.

Hermes stared at him, an air of mild surprise disguising his true longing, “You will? If you can manage it… she’s yours.”

Cullen puffed out air in a subtle laugh. “Rather… she would belong to herself. No point in going from one owner to another - let her decide where she wants to be and with who. That‘s how the Mabari do it in Ferelden.” He looked at his friend, determination coloring his tone. “Give me some time, my friend,” he requested, meeting Hermes‘ eyes in an attempt to show his true thoughts without words. “I’ll let you know, one way or another.” He took his leave, called Dane to him, who obeyed with a sulky air, and headed back to the house, lost in thought, and shaken by what the news might mean to his wife.

But didn’t everyone deserve to decide where they wanted to be?

In the end, Cullen didn‘t go to Asta first, but to her brother, arguing with himself the whole time he gave him the story. “You want me to help you get Master Hermes out of the country?” Max ran his hand through his hair, intrigued, despite himself. “And _all_ his dogs?”

“Just the dozen or so from his personal project,” Cullen stated swiftly. “The rest stay. They don‘t… belong to him.”

“Oh? Well, that makes a difference,” Max joked. “At least I don’t have to arrange to smuggle the ones the size of teacups. Oh wait, that would be _easier_ than the ones the size of an easy chair. Maker‘s Breath, Cullen, you don't ask much do you?!”

Cullen barked a laugh before he could stop himself. “I do have some thoughts… I knew this elf, slightly, who was a slave before he escaped and came to Kirkwall… Fenris was his name. He holds a valid grudge against most mages, and kills slavers as a hobby, so perhaps he… Varric would probably know where he is, if anyone does.”

Max stared at him blankly. “He kills slavers as a… hobby?”

“Personal crusade, might be more appropriate,” Cullen’s shoulders slumped, while he allowed his head to roll slightly to the right, “It does take some explaining. It’s a long story, but he’s a decent sort. Unless you piss him off. Just don’t piss him off, or the rumors are you‘ll find your heart outside your chest. I suspect that the rumors are true, anyway… You’re a Marcher, Max. Marchers are free - your ancestors fought with the Imperium and died to keep you that way. You‘ll understand, as Dorian won‘t, and I‘m… reluctant to drag Asta into this... situation. If we‘re discovered…” His words disappeared into the morass of his thoughts. “I’ll have to tell her about the mural, of course, but…”  His conscience was speaking up again, telling him that he shouldn't be risking her like this... but...

Max shook his head, eyes wide, but he was smiling, “I have been bored, and this would be a challenge, no doubt. But just the Kennelmaster and his dogs? Aren’t you thinking too small?”

Cullen blinked, “What do you mean?” Mentally he cursed this pair of siblings and the trouble they managed to get into when they were bored. The Maker had a sense of humor after all, if he lead him to these two.

Max leaned in, speaking quietly but clearly, “We’re perfectly positioned within a Magister’s household. We're almost above suspicion.  We could be getting all sorts of people out, not just your friend. Not enough to make people notice anything unusual, of course.  Load them on boats, say, and out of the country. It will have to be a boat, at least the first time, unless…” he mused, “No. No chance that an entire group of dogs wouldn't be noticed if they were transported over that bridge. We’ll have to drug them. Possibly him, as well. Unless we could come to an agreement with the dwarves and use the Deep Roads… wish Bernie hadn‘t stayed behind now, but the dwarves here are definitely _not_ like Varric.  More likely to turn us all in than help us out, even if we bribed them.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, “I suppose that might be necessary,” he worried. “I don’t like the thought of drugging people, but… if we are going to succeed…”

“We’ll send them through Kirkwall,” determined Max, plots unraveling behind his intelligent eyes. “Make the slave trade go in reverse for once. From there, I’m sure that the Viscount would be willing to arrange transportation to…”

“It would need to be Ferelden,” Cullen stressed, “There’s no where else that would dare protect them from the Imperium outside Skyhold. We can't take them directly to Skyhold - Josie would have both our heads for implicating the Inquisition.  And if you’re thinking of more than just Master Hermes and his dogs, Skyhold won’t hold them all. Orlais would send them back. But in Ferelden… after Loghain‘s betrayal of the elves during the Blight…”

“They would risk their lives for slaves and dogs,” Max agreed, deadly serious. “We’ll send them to Kirkwall, give them new identities, and from there, have Varric contact the King and ask him to arrange for formal asylum. If I know King Alistair…”

Cullen blinked again, “You know King Alistair?”

Max laughed, “Who do you think had to go to Denerim to flush out the Venatori assassins?  Leliana had to send someone discreet.” He winked. “Decent man. Wasted on being king, poor sod. All too excited to get his ass out of the throne and get a little exercise. He’ll do it in a heartbeat - rumor has it he interfered in an entire slave smuggling ring during the Blight - probably the same one that took Emily‘s mother. I’ll make the arrangements. You let Hermes know that he needs to be ready at any time. And then… you’d best stay away. You can‘t be involved in this any more than you already are.  I'll write to Varric about your elf acquaintance. Don‘t even visit the kennels, Cullen, however bored Dane gets. I‘ll spread some rumors as to why.” Cullen nodded quickly in understanding. “But you’d better talk to my sister about that damn mural. I’m going to ground tonight, and I’ll ask some more questions. I’d bet anything it’s not the only painting cropping up around Minrathous, or shit, in the entire Imperium. With the eluvians, he could be doing this everywhere. We‘ve got to find out what he’s trying to tell us, beyond setting my sister up to become some sort of freedom fighter against her will.”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen paled. “That’s exactly what he’s doing. Damn you, Solas, she‘s been used enough. Can‘t you just leave her alone?"

***

They all met in the library the next evening, electing to include both Emily and Petri, as their association with the Inquisitor could put them in danger. “So the upshot is,” Max led the discussion easily, “Is that there are pictures all over the Imperium, in Solas' distinctive style, that all seem to point directly at you, Asta, as someone that can be trusted, who will lead them to freedom. Certain people have already been approached about just such an eventuality.”

Asta gaped like a fish, “Certain people? Max, have you…”

“Just the Jennies,” Max assured her, lying through his teeth. “Jenny involvement with the Inquisition is pretty well-known these days. Sera doesn’t exactly keep a low profile, even while she’s doing Left Hand of the Divine work.”

Petri swallowed, “Was it your intention, Inquisitor, to encourage a slave uprising in Minrathous during your time here? Because this… is dangerously close to treason. Tevinters don‘t deal gently with…”

“It was not,” Asta rubbed her forehead, marveling at Solas‘ audacity and simultaneously aching with sympathy. “I assure you, I am here for research, to encourage the Lucerni and our… mutual society, and to visit Dorian. Nothing else. Dorian, should we leave? If we encourage this… a lot of people, people who have next to nothing already, are going to _die_.”

Cullen countered, face hard, “Is it better to live as a slave or die free? I know what I would say.” Asta lifted her head to look at him, biting her lips. “At least they should have the choice, shouldn’t they? I‘ve seen the markets - those aren‘t adults they‘re selling most of the time. They‘re kids, or nearly so!”

“You think we should?” Asta started, brows creased far too deeply.

“ _I_ think we should be bloody careful,” Max interjected, alarmed by the turn in the conversation. “We keep Asta away from any site of these paintings. We keep her safe. At every opportunity we make an attempt to keep her presence apolitical and social. No more Lucerni meetings, lest the whole group get lumped in with whatever Fen’Harel is trying to pull, and I have yet to see more than three of you rebellious archivists in the same room together. I’m beginning to think you’re all antisocial, quite honestly. And in the meantime…” he laughed, “I’m going to do what I’m best at. And you aren’t going to know what I’m doing, in any detail, because if I’m caught, I’ll just put you all in danger. Understood?”

“Max, I can’t let you…”

“You aren’t letting me do anything, and you have no idea what I‘m up to, brother or not.” Max assured her. “I’m my own man. As of now, I resign from the Inquisition. Cullen and Dorian - you’re my witnesses.”

“Bernie will kill me if I let…”

“Bernie hasn’t written since she left us in Northern Nevarra,” Max countered, his eyes dead. “Don’t drag her into this, Inquisitor.”

“I can’t stop you,” Asta realized. “But Max… _I_ don‘t want you to risk yourself…”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, voice rough. “I’m a thief. I’ve been doing things like this for most of my adult life. This is just a little… larger than the things I normally steal. Just let me do my job.”

“You’re all going to get each other killed,” Petri observed softly, and Emily nodded next to him, eyes scared. “Count me in.”

Max jerked back at the man‘s offer. “What?”

“I said I’m in. I know a lot of people here, and you‘re going to need a mage that‘s familiar with the way our Templars operate - one on the right side of the law - and how the people in the shadows strike.” He stood. “Dorian, keep your heir safe,” he ordered. “You know what’s at stake. Keep the Inquisitor safe.”

“I always do,” Dorian assured him, pale and silent, in suppressed anger. “And I’m assured help is on the way.  But Max, know this - if you dare put me or my family in danger, I...”

"Understood," Max answered.  "I will take the fall, I assure you."

"You may not have that opportunity," Dorian contradicted.  "The only reason I am agreeing to this is..." his eyes fell upon his heir, and his expression grew pained.  "Fasta Vass... I can't..." he drooped.  "Just be fucking careful."

***

A week later, two Chargers were shown into Dorian’s home office, one looking sheepish and silent, and the other brazen and cheerful. “Dalish! Grim!” Dorian stood, and bid the servant showing them in, “Fetch the Inquisitor, if you please.” He turned back to his next guests. “Dalish… why did Bull send you?! Doesn’t he realize that sending an elven ma…”

“He asked for volunteers,” the not-a-mage interrupted. “Grim and I, we know what’s at stake. Grim loves glory, he does. I think he’s trying to make up for something, myself.” The blond man grunted in denial. “Whatever,” the elf rolled her eyes. "The Chief says you need us, that the Inquisitor needs us. And he said you‘d pay us well. Was he wrong?”

“Of course I will,” Dorian beamed. “It’s wonderful to see you. How is Bull?”

Grim put his hands to his head and made the sign of horns, and then drooped them down to the sound of Dalish's laughter. “That’s about right. He’s not the same without you, Magister.”

“Please, call me Dorian,” the magister urged, just as Asta came in. “Asta, we have new guests!”

“Grim! Dalish!” Asta’s face lit up, and then fell. “Dalish, you shouldn’t have come, there’s a slave rebellion brewing and you’re…”

“If she doesn’t mind, I’ll arrange for her to be added formally to my staff,” Dorian made a swift note. “That will provide a degree of protection, I believe.”

“My hands aren’t going anywhere near your staff,” Dalish countered, laughing at her own crude pun. “I’m _not_ a mage!”

“Of course you aren’t,” Asta replied indulgently. “It’s so good to see you both! Grim, are you well?” Grim nodded, nearly glum, and Dalish slapped him on the back. “Good.”

“I’ll have someone show you to your rooms,” Dorian stood imperially. “Only the best for my Bull‘s Chargers…”

“That won’t work,” Dalish argued. “We’re here as employees, not guests…” Grim looked even more despondent. “Don’t argue with me, Grim,” she warned. “I know you like it posh, but…” he pouted ever so slightly. “Fine,” she gave in. “Grimmy wants the best. Give him the best. Let me bunk down with the rest of your security.”

“Absolutely not,” Dorian thrust up his chin. “You’re here as representatives of the Chargers and the Inquisition. You are equals.”

“Fuck no,” Dalish argued back. “We’re here as bodyguards, because the Chief can’t be. Grim and I are here for you and the Inquisitor, and that’s final. We‘ve got our orders straight from the Chief.” Grim grunted in agreement with her, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Listen to them, Dorian,” Asta urged. “They’ll know what’s best.”

“Right,” Dalish grinned, “So when do we get to meet the Sprog?”

“Sprog?”

“The newest Charger! Bull came back all lit up and bragging, and now, every time they talk he just gets this goofy grin… Krem started calling her the Sprog, and now…”

“Emily, Dorian,” Asta interpreted. “She means Emily.”

“Oh!” Dorian’s face dawned in comprehension. “Of course. Bull and his nicknames. I suppose I should be relieved that Varric didn’t hear first. Immediately. In fact, Dalish, I would take it as a personal favor if you could teach her some basic self defense skills. I know you excel at… archery,” Dorian finished lamely.  "Learning some of your... old elven tricks... could be useful."

“Course,” Dalish nodded. “Grim and I are on it.” The larger man grunted in agreement. “In this world, she’ll need them. Smart of you to insist on it.  The Chief said you were a good dad.”

***

Asta left the house the next morning, smiling at the sky between the dark buildings, relishing her relative freedom, and beaming at Grim and Dalish. “Thank you so much, you two,” she said for the hundredth time. “I’ve been so cooped up. I want to visit so many places, Dorian! Where are you taking me first?”

Dorian hummed, “Well, we should start with the bookstores, if you think we’ll finish with the bookstores. Heavy loads, but if we go flower shopping first, they’ll wilt before we get home.”

“Oh, we can wait on the flowers,” Asta smiled, “though that store that had the botanicals…”

“Books it is,” Dorian took her good arm. “Wise choice to wear Fact,” he sighed. “Better to let people see you armed occasionally,” he chuckled at his unintentional pun. “Armed, Asta."  Asta shoved him slightly but chuckled.

“You’re a laugh riot,” Dalish grinned slightly in appreciation, and Grim groaned. “He’s paying us to laugh at his jokes, Grimmy,” she argued. “And you liked that fluffy mess of a bed. I know you did, you pampered arse.  Laugh, or I'll let it get back to the Chief.” Grim made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, stuff it,” Dalish advised.

Asta barely contained her skipping as they neared the first bookstore, tugging impatiently at the magister at her side. “Come on, move faster!”

“I will not,” Dorian argued, “Inquisitor, I am not required to run after you any longer. Honestly…” the looks of the people surrounding them registered at that moment. “Asta,” he said quietly. “I believe we are being observed.”

“It’s her! It’s the Inquisitor,” several people in the street took up a murmur. “What did I tell you? Maybe…” one or two curtseyed, and the awed looks followed her like a river its banks.

“Dorian,” Asta was instantly uncomfortable, “Do you think this has to do with…”

“Undoubtedly,” Dorian cut her off. “Continue, Inquisitor. Dalish, Grim, on alert,” he snapped a barrier up around them all, including only a few unwary passers-by in the process. “Think you two can manage to keep her safe in the streets?”

Grim just grunted, but Dalish shrugged. “Bit close range, but that’s what Grim is for. Can’t your fancy magic tricks…”

“Difficult in a crowd,” Dorian observed quietly. “Come on, in the store,” he urged Asta, watching the people still following her with their eyes. “Damn you, Solas,” he muttered under his breath. “Just let her be a person, will you?”

***

“They’re having a trial at the Proving Grounds,” Dorian mentioned at dinner that night. “And the flowers will be blooming well enough to be interesting, Asta. It’s so pleasant, isn’t it, to be North where Spring comes so early? Would you like to take a day off tomorrow from all the dusty tomes and scrolls and visit?”

“What does it involve?”

“They hold all sorts of events at the Proving Grounds,” Dorian shrugged. “This one is a competition, of sorts. Like a tournament, but… more civilized. And with magic.”

“So… instead of knights knocking each other off horses they try…”

“To knock each other silly with magic,” Dorian confirmed. “Interested?”

Asta wavered, “I saw enough of that in the war, Dorian. I have a hard time believing it would be entertaining to… but I did want to see the gardens there.”

“The spells aren’t intended to kill,” Dorian reassured her. “Just inconvenience. It is meant for entertainment, after all. Slightly less barbaric. The dwarves apparently do similar things. Always meant to ask Varric about that, but eventually I figured out that he isn‘t exactly representative of his people.”

Asta looked at Cullen, “What do you think?”

“I’m not interested,” Cullen had turned white at the thought. “I… have had experiences with mages fighting each other that I am not anxious to repeat.”

“So not tomorrow,” Asta smiled at Dorian, setting her hand on Cullen‘s knee to comfort him. “Perhaps we can find something less like magical fighting to attend there? Or go on a day when they aren’t having an event? Surely they would allow us to just walk through and look at everything?”

“I’ll see about getting permission,” Dorian agreed. “Shouldn’t be difficult.” He shrugged. “It was just a thought, in any case. All work and no play, you know. I‘ll see about getting tickets to the theater instead. Still magic, but, you know, less fighting, depending on the story. Its been ages since I went, and I would love to take Emily. You‘d probably enjoy something maudlin and romantic?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about the possibility of visiting a few more isolated ruins,” Asta set down her napkin and leaned over the table, propping herself up on her elbows and ignoring basic manners in her enthusiasm. “I don’t want to spend all my time here in Minrathous, Dorian. I want to visit that village I mentioned to you before… it might be a good time to get out of the city in any case, with all the rumors…”

“Been there,” Max said bluntly, interrupting her attempts at persuasion. “One of the first places that Leliana looked for Solas. But it’s in Nevarra, strictly speaking, Asta, after the lines were redrawn, and it’s practically a ruin. After that place he gave as his hometown…” and Asta’s eyes lit up. “Oh no. Asta, we are not heading that far north, whatever…”

“Max, you said the magic word,” Dorian grinned. “You had her at ‘ruin’. Besides, we could go north. I could take you to my ancestral home, visit with Mae… Asta would probably like to spit off the cliffs into the ocean, and then write to Sera about the experience afterward…”

“Dorian, don’t you have any acquaintances that would be interested in traveling with us?” Asta smiled sweetly. “We really need another mage in the party, don’t you think?”

“He’s not coming,” Cullen grumped into his wine.

“Who?”

“Petri.”

Asta laughed, “I’m more convinced than ever that you are all wrong. He’s made no overtures, no untoward advances other than mild flirtation. I say worse things to Dorian every day. You‘ve never objected to that, Cullen.”

Max sputtered into his wine, and Cullen glared in silent warning. “Not now, anyway,” Max muttered once the coughing had stopped. “Cullen, you really ought to come clean to your wife. She‘s under a mistaken impression about some of your personality flaws…”

Dorian set down his wine glass firmly, breaking into the degrading conversation. “Emily, are you bored? All this grown-up talk must be dull.”

“No,” she smiled slightly. “I’ve been hearing you all bicker about Archivist Petrinius for weeks, and I want to find out what it’s about. Asta, is he in love with you? How tragic!” Her eyes were stars. “Poor Petri - an unattainable love - how romantic.”

“I need to introduce you to Cassandra,” Asta mouth twisted with humor.

“Don’t, lest they start a book club,” Dorian laughed. “And yes, I’m aware of the trite novels you’ve been reading, Emily. It’s fine. You don’t have to hide them. It will help you gain fluency in reading, even with all the throbbing parts and flesh-swords.  As long as you're reading.”

“Emily, it’s not like that,” Asta insisted, shooting a critical look at Dorian, regarding his language. “He’s merely interested in my research, and Cullen, Max and Dorian will hardly let him get a word in edgewise. We haven’t had a moment to ourselves to discuss anything of the sort.”

“And you won’t,” Max grumped. “I’ve read his diary, Asta.”

“Oh please,” Asta rolled her eyes. “I have too - you left it out so that I would stumble upon it. Don’t deny it, Max, the archivists have been pulling shi… stuff like that for decades. So he admires me. That doesn’t mean he lacks self control. Or jerks off to…” she looked at Emily, censoring herself again for the young woman. “Sorry, Em. I shouldn‘t have said...”

“I know what it means,” the girl sighed. “Too bad. Ser Cullen is sweet, but you’d have a lot in common with another archivist.” Cullen choked on his steak and Asta pounded on his back, alarmed.

“I’m not attracted to him, though,” Asta assured her between thumps. “Possibly we are too much alike. Love is like that, sometimes.” She handed Cullen her napkin with a concerned look. “Ser Cullen is more than enough.”

“Love must be weird,” the girl leaned on her elbows. “Max, are you seeing anyone?”

“Sort of,” he replied shortly. “I don’t particularly want to talk about it.”

“Is it the woman you write to, that hasn’t written back?”

“That’s private, Emily,” Dorian reprimanded gently, exchanging a worried look with Asta.

Max stood up abruptly. “Yes, well, I think I’m finished. Please excuse me.”  He left the room with most of his dinner uneaten.

Asta sighed, and let him go.

 


	15. Ain't no party like a 'Vint party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little angsty for a few chapters. Going to be updating this twice a week from now on out, since I've finished 'Demands of a Champion', probably Monday and Thursday.

“I have something I think might help you,” Petri beamed over the pile at books he had just delivered at Asta, who obligingly sat back, and took the sheet of parchment he offered, unrolling it slowly, and eyebrows raising with appreciation. “It’s a copy of what local elves claim is a shrine to the Evanuris, outside of Marnas Pell.”

Asta looked over the detailed drawing with admiration. “Who was the artist?” she marveled. “The details are so well done! And those runes…” She pored over them briefly, and then shook her head. “I can’t make them out, Petri, could you…”

“’And those who slumbered, the ancient ones, awoke, for their dreams had been eaten by a demon that prowled the Beyond / like a wolf hunting a herd of deer / by taking first the weakest and frailest of hopes. / And when there was nothing left, destroying the bright and bold by subtlety and ambush and cruel arts,‘”, he murmured, pointing the runes out one at a time. “I have another page in my personal portfolio that has the runes enlarged, if you‘d like to see it. As for the artist… I am the artist. I summered near there, and my mother still lives in Marnas Pell,” Petri grinned affectionately, “since she detests Minrathous. I decided to go out to see the site on my last visit home, figuring that an elven shrine that nearly quoted the Canticle of Exaltations was worth making a record of for the library. I have a suspicion that the runes might be the earliest record of that section of the Canticle. The parallels aren‘t precise, but they are so… close. Too close for coincidence. And since Fen‘Harel is known as the ‘Dread Wolf‘, I thought…”

Asta broke in at that point, “And you’re an artist,” she rested her forehead in her hand. “And a mage, with more than a slight interest in history. Cullen is going to kill me for this. But Petri,” Asta hesitated, but pressed on, despite her reservations, “I don’t suppose you could take a leave of absence from your position to travel for a time? Assuming you‘re interested in fieldwork?”

He smiled hugely, “I’ll see what I can do,” he breathed with excitement through his nose. “I’ve always wanted to take a sabbatical.” He stood, “I’ll leave you to it. I just thought this might be of interest. Keep the copy, if it helps.”

“It definitely does. Thank you, Petri.” He left and Asta buried her face in her arms. “Cullen is going to kill me,” she muttered again. “But fuck it, he’s exactly what we need.”

Dorian entered the room at that point, settling back down with another tome. “What are you muttering about fucking, amica? Something I should be concerned about?”

“Dorian,” Asta bit her lip, hesitant to confide. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.” She went back to work, under Dorian’s worried gaze, but popped back up, with a more familiar determination. “Just… I think we’re going to have to bring Petri with us, and we’re going to Marnas Pell immediately after we try to find the pool where Andraste was betrayed near the Valarian Plains. Assuming there‘s anything left of it after ages have passed.”

“You’re right, Cullen _is_ going to kill you, but you should definitely _not_ say anything near him about fucking it,” Dorian sighed. “Do try not to get in a loud argument when you tell him, my dear? It will upset Emily. She doesn‘t deal with confrontations well.”

“I’ll do my best,” Asta sighed, already depressed at the very thought. “He’s going to take this really badly, isn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

“Probably about as well as you dropping physically into the Fade, my dear,” Dorian said fondly. “Hopefully with decent make-up sex afterward, however. No doubt he‘ll need the reassurance that you still love him, despite his lack of artistic talent, mage abilities, or much historical interest,” Asta picked up a book and hit him on the arm with it in lieu of replying. “Don’t damage the books, Inquisitor,” he smoothed his hair. “Petri will never forgive you. So many cannot be replaced.”

“This one is yours,” Asta pointed out, showing him the title.

“Even worse then,” Dorian tutted. “Sister Petrine doesn’t deserve to be treated so poorly.”

***

Solas stared at his informant. “She’s planning to travel _where?_ ”

“To the Valarian Fields, Fen’Harel,” the scout, a slave that was employed at the library, only recently recruited, looked nervous, and Solas attempted to look less threatening. “She has some notion about finding the pool mentioned in the Chant, where Andraste was betrayed… where Maferath lured her, promising that the voice of the Maker was loud there.”

“But that pool isn’t anywhere near…” Solas closed his mouth. “Fool,” he muttered. “What do you expect to find? A damp patch of mud?” He sighed, extremely irritated. “In any case, she’s already _been_ there. Fool.” It didn’t matter that she couldn’t possibly have known that she cleared out an entire varghest family from the location personally while visiting Crestwood.

The intimidated scout dared to speak up, “She did say that she was going to Marnas Pell after, to some elven shrine that quoted from Exaltations…” Solas closed his eyes, attempting to be patient. Tales and superstitions. Always disguising the truth.

“Thank you for your work,” he managed. “Please let me know if you discover anything else?” With the clear dismissal he turned away and let the frightened scout leave. “Inquisitor,” he sighed, “What do I have to do, draw a picture?” His mouth became a hard line, and he left the room to confront his guards. “Call the senior officers.”

Perhaps it was time to make a few more people start… disappearing. His impatience was wearing thin. Yes, he had been told that plans were being made, but evidently the Inquisitor still needed his help.

“You must move _faster_ ,” he muttered under his breath, and then turned to face his lieutenants, steel-eyed and cold. “Start the evacuations, but only take those we are sure of,” he instructed. “Start in Orlais, and in Minrathous. Immediately.”

“At once, sir.” He gave a few more instructions, crisp and nearly irritably, and then wound up the short meeting with a curt dismissal. His officers filed out, and he leaned back against his worktable with a frown.

If she wouldn’t take the leap, then perhaps she would have to be led. “Time to decide which side of the battle you want to fight on, Inquisitor,” he murmured. “Tell me, what kind of hero do you want to be?”

***

“Dalish, do you have a minute?” Max leaned against the frame of the elven archer’s door, making it look like he was holding up the entire house, and watched her clean her equipment.

“’Course,” she nodded, setting down her ‘bow‘, already bright with polish. “What do you need?”

“I’m working on an outside project, and I thought you and Grim might be… sympathetic,” he started. “I could use your help in particular on the night of a certain party that I‘m required to attend. You see, I‘ve managed to double book myself, like the fool I am, and I know my sister would hate for me to miss such an event.”

“Right,” Dalish looked skeptical. “This have anything to do with that apostate’s pictures popping up everywhere showing the Inquisitor as some sort of glowy savior?”

“Maybe,” Max qualified. “Interested?”

“Definitely,” Dalish grinned, almost wolfishly. “My Keeper told me I ought to see the world. Broaden my horizons. This sounds like a fine opportunity. Only… Grim has to stay behind. Inquisitor‘s our paycheck, this job. Chief would never forgive us if we both abandoned the job in favor of meeting new people.”

Max nodded, “Done. I need you specifically in any case. The people I have in mind are more likely to trust you. Grim and I are shemlen, after all.”

  
“Eh, you’re all dirty shems. Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you. Fill me in, anyway,” Dalish swung her feet to the ground. “I’m all ears,” and then she cracked up at her own joke again. “All ears. Get it?” Max merely lifted an eyebrow. “I miss the Chief. He always laughs at my jokes,” she grumbled. “What’s the fun of being an elf if you can’t make fun of your own ears? You shems all take yourselves too seriously.”

***

The ball was already loud and raucous when the Inquisitor’s party arrived, driven by Grim, Cullen alternately scowling and worrying over what he knew was happening that night, if not where or how, and whether his friend and his dogs would even survive the night. He winced involuntarily, and Asta, attuned to his moods, took notice.

“Are you all right?” she scanned his face for signs of pain, but didn’t find any. “We could go back if you aren‘t well…”

“No, you can’t,” Dorian asserted firmly. “This party is going to introduce you to several significant people, amica. People you need to be acquainted with to make an impact here. You will not waste this opportunity.” He eyed Cullen doubtfully. “You should have both worn black,” he sighed.

“No,” Cullen spat. “Just… no. I don‘t even understand why we‘re here, honestly. These…” he sneered at the revelry going on inside, “people have no interest in the Inquisition or the Inquisitor except as something to gawk at. A novelty.”

“Naturally,” Dorian didn’t even blink at his grumbling. “It’s all ‘look at the trained soporati that Magister Pavus is escorting around in polite society. Aren’t they darling? Like little monkeys…’” Cullen’s disgusted noise echoed through the receiving hall.

“Relax, brother,” Max patted his back. “It’s not that bad. Dorian is being sarcastic. Again.” His look was a slight warning. “Go inside, have a drink or two, and dance with your wife. It won’t all be awful, I assure you.”

Once inside, the building was a blur of too bright lights and loud music, and even Asta winced. “This is a bit much, Dorian.”

“It is a gaudy display of vulgar wealth,” Dorian admitted with a cheerful smile. “But we have to persevere, my friends. At least for a while. Come along, let me introduce you to Maevaris. She’s far more popular than I, and will handle the rest of the introductions.”

“I’ve met her,” Max reassured his sister and brother in law. “She’s nice enough. I can see how she’d love this group, though. Exactly her type of scene. She‘s probably the one casting the light show.” Dorian pursed his lips and nodded in agreement, and turned his feet in that direction.

The shorthaired, curvaceous blonde woman wasn’t casting the light display, but she was watching in fascination, just far enough away to take in the entire spectacle. “Dorian!” She swept forward, arms outstretched. “How are you, you hothouse orchid, you?!” She pecked him on both cheeks affectionately.

“Mae!” Dorian embraced her eagerly. “How darling you look! And so young! Not a year older than fifty, I swear.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” Mae whacked his shoulder with her fan. “Flatterer.” She looked appraisingly at Asta and then her face landed on Cullen. “Well, hot damn, Dorian, you weren‘t kidding when you said he was handsome,” she smiled alluringly. “I swear, I’ve seen desire demons that were less good looking than you, sweetheart,” she flirted. Cullen blushed and scowled and she laughed. “You must be the Commander. Charmed, my dear,” she held out her hand, and he kissed it, grudgingly. “Dorian said you blushed beautifully. And the Inquisitor,” she reached out and kissed both of Asta’s cheeks abruptly, pulling her closer. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You have no idea how many changes you’ve made already, do you?” She pulled away slightly and smiled even larger. “Let’s be social, dearies.”

An hour passed, filled with new faces, meaningless banter and insincerities, and Asta was looking longingly at the dance floor. Cullen opened his mouth to offer to make a fool of himself for her, when Petri - collected at some point during the evening, though he couldn’t say precisely when, since it was all just a boring and irritating blur - beat him to the punch.

The archivist bowed, and offered his hand, “May I have the honor, Inquisitor?” Asta‘s face fell, flashing a questioning glance at Cullen. He shrugged, more than a little cross, but knowing that she could not decline without causing offense. Petri drew her out on the floor with grace, and Asta soon lost herself in the pleasure of the steps. She was already loosening up, following his lead, and Cullen lost sight of her in the crowd.

“Idiot,” Max hit his shoulder. “Why didn’t you ask her?” Dorian obviously agreed, by the critical look on his face, all arched eyebrow and pursed lips.

“He got there first,” Cullen growled. “I could hardly shove him to the side to claim her, could I?”

“I suppose not,” Dorian sighed critically. “But Cullen, a little assertiveness would not be amiss here. Petri will be…” Dorian bit off his words and Cullen looked at him curiously.  "Ah well, the damage is done."

“Oh, a little fun is no harm,” Maevaris tutted. “They are well-matched on the floor, and the Inquisitor is charming,” she smiled genuinely. “Dorian, I’m so glad you brought them.”

“How is the gossip?” Dorian asked bluntly. “Positive?”

“Mostly,” agreed the other Magister. “Naturally a few people are disgruntled that you would bring foreign soporati into a civilized event. But you were already unpopular. It’s not hurting _your_ reputation.  Or mine, since people are used to me making scandalous associations.  A few people are debating whether Serah Trevelyan is your lover,” Maevaris winked at the taller man, who winked back, willing to play along, “or if perhaps it’s your friend’s husband,” she peered over her wine glass. “I’ve assured them that you are faithful to only one, and that the person isn’t here.” All mystery and frippery disappeared with the murmured final sentence, accompanied with a sympathetic look.

“Thank you,” grumped Dorian, “I think. I’m sure that will feed the existing rumors.”

“Bound to happen, considering, but better to feed the existing rumors in the direction you wish them to go, yes?” Maevaris shrugged. “Now, then, Magister Pavus, dance with me,” the blonde ordered, demandingly opening her arms, “I need to burn off some of this alcohol. I‘m drinking too much, missing my husband the way I do.”

“Mae, that excuse is getting old," Dorian bantered, "Your husband’s been dead since the last age, surely? But I’ll dance with pleasure,” bowed the mage, and swept her up regally, leaving the other two men standing against the wall, largely ignored by the rest of the room, much to Cullen’s relief.

“Never have I been so glad to not be a mage,” he sighed, while Max frowned. “What?”

“You should be dancing with her,” Max stressed.

“I barely dance,” Cullen hissed. “I would only make a fool of her, and she deserves…”

“We’re going to fix that,” Max narrowed his eyes. “Meet me tomorrow,” he ordered. “You’re going to learn, and learn fast. By the next ball…”

Cullen shook his head, “I’m not…”

“Yes, you are,” Max threatened. “Or so help me…” Petri returned Asta, laughing and flushed attractively. “Sister,” Max bowed, “May I?”

“Ugh, haven’t we danced together enough, Max?” Asta pouted, “I’d rather…” Cullen looked away from her, his face drawn into a scowl. “Well, Cullen isn’t willing,” she allowed reluctantly, “so I suppose…” she took her brother’s hand and let him lead her away.

Petri smirked, and leaned up against the wall as he watched them leave. “You’re a lucky man,” he started, “She’s…”

“Not available,” Cullen turned narrow eyes on him, determined to let him know just where he stood in the grand scheme of things.

“I am aware,” Petri sighed. “Believe me. In any case, my position would never allow…”

“You aren’t good enough for her,” Cullen cut him off, his irritation and nervousness pressing him to start a fight.

“And you are?” Petri‘s face grew hard. “Surely I am more appropriate than a washed up, lyrium-addled, former Templar, even if he was the Commander of the Inquisition once upon a time?” he sneered. “I’ve read about you, you know. You’re a bigot, you hate _all_ mages, and were involved in horrible things as a Knight-Captain in Kirkwall. Tethras was gentle, with his little hints about your dark past, but he‘s not the only author of a book on the subject of the Champion. Most of the others are far more reliable.”

“I am trying to atone,” Cullen clenched his fists, angry at having to justify himself and his actions to this… man, censoring himself from calling him worse things, even in his own mind. “You are pursuing a married woman. Who is more of a gentleman here?”

“Hardly pursuing,” Petri bragged in apparent amusement. “ _She_ asked _me_ to travel with you when you leave the city. I wouldn’t classify that as pursuit.”

“She didn’t,” Cullen paled and then flushed angrily. “She wouldn’t… not without telling…”

“So she didn’t tell you,” Petri’s mouth straightened. “Well, it was just a few days ago. You probably haven’t had much time to yourselves. She‘s been very busy with her writing - she's been by every day, nearly, for weeks.”

Cullen paused, weighing the truth of his words.  It was true that they hadn’t had much time - he had been caught up with Dane‘s lack of exercise turning into destructive behavior since they were trying to avoid the kennels, and Asta was absorbed in her work, so close to finishing a first draft, but surely there had been enough… he shook his head, refusing to go down that path. “She is not accustomed to clearing her companions through me,” he replied, with an air of belligerence, sure that he was right in this at least. “She doesn’t have to ask me…”

“What do I not need to ask you?” Asta had returned. “Cullen? Petri? Why are you arguing?” She was staring at them both, trying to determine who was the most at fault. “You’re one step away from causing a scene.” Indeed, people were beginning to stop and stare at their loud discussion, with the nearby whispering behind their hands.

“Petri has informed me you asked him to accompany us to the Valarian Plains,” Cullen stated stiffly. “Is that true?” His eyes begged her to deny it.

Asta looked guilty, “Well, yes, I did. He can draw, love, and given his other skills, I thought…”

Cullen’s face fell, crestfallen, “You thought he would be a good addition. I see. You… need... him.”

“I do,” she said quietly, lifting her chin. “I still think it’s a good idea, if you can get over your…”

“My jealousy,” Cullen’s irrational anger and stress won out over his disappointment, and he sneered. “What’s to be jealous of?” Asta blinked, and turned to Petri.  "Why would I ever be jealous of _him_?"

“Perhaps you should leave,” she told the other man quietly. “I would spare you a scene.” She turned to her brother. “Max, would you please have Grim pull the carriage around? I believe my husband and I need to have a talk. In private.” She flashed Cullen a cold glare that made him flinch. “I hardly think we’ll find anything like privacy here.”

“Gladly,” Max eyed Cullen‘s fists, clenched inside their gloves. “I’ll do that, and let Dorian know you are leaving.” He walked away and Asta glided to the entrance to retrieve her wrap, followed somewhat sullenly by Cullen.

Their carriage approached, Grim looking curious from his seat in the driver‘s box, but demanding no answers, and Asta climbed into it without Cullen‘s offered assistance, still frozen and cold. “What did you think you were doing?” she hissed as the carriage started moving. “There, of all places? Half of the room will be convinced that I‘m involved…”

“Are you?” Cullen threw back. “He _is_ attached, and you…”

“And I _what?_ ” Asta lifted her chin yet higher, shifting sideways as the carriage turned a corner, slowly. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, do you really think I would…”

“No!” Cullen nearly yelled, fists clenched against the seat. “I don’t… but he… and I can’t…” he flushed, miserably. “I hate Tevinter,” he cursed impotently. “I have nothing to offer you here.”

“You don’t have to offer anything,” Asta started to protest, as the carriage jerked to a halt. “What…” Cullen held her back, and drew his sword against the unseen threat. “Cullen… please be…” A glyph flashed in the darkness, and he was thrown back against the seat, shocked and shaking with electrical current. “CULLEN!” Asta pressed the hidden latch on her prosthesis, snapping out the dagger and cursing the manners that wouldn‘t allow her to wear Fact to a ball, when most of the attendees didn't need weapons to be dangerous. “Cullen, are you…” He didn’t respond, but he was breathing, at least, and she squinted into the darkness, knowing that there would be more attackers, and tried to brace herself and control her breathing, pulling Cullen‘s dagger from his belt with shaking hands. “Dane…” she muttered, and the dog growled, prowling around her. “Grim!” She yelled, wondering where her other protector was now. “Damn it!” She realized all at once that it was just her and Dane. “Fuck.”  The word seemed completely inadequate.

“Inquisitor,” a hooded and masked man stepped to the side of the carriage. “Would you accompany us, please?”

“I will not,” Asta snarled with a pretense of politeness, trying to make out any distinguishing characteristics and failing. Between one breath and the next Dane lunged for the man’s throat with a nearly silent growl. “Dane!” she called him back, only to see the dog fall from the man’s barrier with a zap and a whimper. “Dane…” she sobbed, now completely alone. “Cullen! Wake up!” she urged, falling to the floor of the carriage and shaking his shoulder. “Commander!” but Cullen didn’t wake to his title. So Asta screamed, “I will not go with you! You’ll have to kill me first!” She threw the dagger in her fist, and struck the man in his shoulder, shocked when it sunk in, his barrier apparently worn off with Dane‘s attack.  She lifted her skirts and thrust her heeled shoe into his face, making him stagger with the combination.

At that moment, an ice spell froze the man at the carriage in place, creeping up his neck, and Petri stepped up and dragged Grim, apparently sleeping, off one side of the carriage box, setting him in the carriage gently, with muscles surprisingly developed for an academic. “Sorry to interrupt, Inquisitor,” he said crisply. “I suspected trouble, and followed you to make sure you arrived safely.” Asta drew her crystal out of her pocket and attempted to connect with Dorian, shaking with distress and fully aware that the man might not be a friend. “Can I assist you further?”

“No,” she told him, confused. “Cullen and Dane are hurt and I…” her words disappeared, and Dorian’s voice finally came through, nervous and alarmed at her public use of the crystal. “Dorian,” she sobbed. “I need help. We tried to leave, and Cullen and Dane were attacked. Well, we all were. Grim is asleep, I think… Maker, let him be sleeping! They wanted me to go with them…” Petri wrangled the unconscious dog into the carriage and stepped gingerly up into the box, and directed the horses forward, directing them back in the direction of the manor.

“Vashante Kaffas,” Dorian cursed. “ _Come back,_ immediately,” he ordered. “You idiots! What made you think it was anything like safe…” the noise of the ball faded into nothing as the carriage pulled around at the front of the house, just as Cullen started to groan.

“Cullen?” Asta stroked his cheek. “Come back, love…” she begged. “Cullen…” Her eyes were dry, but desperate, too scared for tears.

Maevaris climbed up in the carriage and checked him over, briskly, and gleamed a brief healing spell over him. “He’s fine,” she slumped a bit in relief, but never relaxed. “You two _are_ imbeciles,” she commented wryly. “Leaving without the rest of your party? Whatever made you think that was a good idea? Haven‘t you been paying any attention to what Dorian‘s been doing for you? Those distinguished grey hairs at his temple are all for you, Inquisitor!” The flippant tone of her voice hid her haggard look and the grey shadows around her eyes, sunken now in the poorer light of the carriage.

“It was my fault,” Petri said, climbing down out of the driver’s box. “I picked a fight with Ser Rutherford, and it… escalated. They left because of me.” Maevaris sighed with disappointment and resignation.  "I humbly beg your pardon, Inquisitor, Magister Tilani."

“Fasta Vass, amica,” Dorian climbed in the other side, and seated himself across from her, Max close behind. “Are you all right? Max, can you drive?” He was visibly panicked, worried in a way that Asta hadn't ever seen. “Grim looks to be indisposed for a while, Kaffas, Bull is going to KILL me, and I don‘t drive. Never have... I never needed to learn!” Out of the public eye, Dorian shook visibly, reaching for Asta's hand. “Amica… are you…”

“Right,” Max swung himself up, and Maevaris settled herself comfortably as well.

“I’ll be along for the ride,” she told Asta softly, still monitoring Cullen and checking over Grim and making him more comfortable in his sleep, allowing him to slump against her. “He’ll be all right, Inquisitor - it wasn’t much of a shock. His heart is steady, and he‘s breathing well. Your driver… well built for a driver,” she observed wryly, patting the sleeping man's muscular thigh, “has been hit with a sleep spell. It will wear off.  Your dog…” she winced, “is a little worse off, but will recover.” She left her hand on Dane gently, and let it glow briefly. “He’ll be sore for a few days, but no scars, probably.”

“It threw them…” Asta worried. “The mage’s barrier threw them back and knocked them out… how can that not be…”

“His heart is still beating, and beating evenly,” Maevaris calmed her with the repetition. “He’ll be fine with rest. Both of them.”

Asta picked up her husband’s hand, and clutched it. “Dorian… I…”

“I’ll hear the whole story later,” Dorian glared at her, angrier and more worried than she could ever remember him being. “But I certainly hope you all have a better excuse than I think you do.” After that they all let the silence choke them, in favor of listening to the sound of Cullen’s steady breaths.

***

Petri arrived soon after they did at the townhouse, several footmen helping bear the injured to their rooms. “Is she… Is he?” Dorian pushed him back to the foyer, towards the front door, refusing to let the archivist enter the house properly. “I know I was at fault, Pavus,” he stressed. “But they _will_ survive… won‘t they?”

“The Inquisitor is unharmed,” Dorian assured him. “And _her husband_ will live. As will the dog and my driver.” Dorian appraised him, “So confess: Was this a setup? I wouldn't have thought you capable of this, but did you try to have them assassinated? We were unable to determine if your interest was purely personal or…”

Petri blanched, “I wouldn’t,” he defended. “It was personal, I swear! I never intended either of them to be injured... I was being an ass to him, somewhat on purpose… he hasn‘t been exactly… but I didn‘t want him _dead_ …”

Dorian nodded crisply, satisfied. “Then go home,” he ordered. “And leave them alone. Your assistance is no longer required, Archivist Petrinius,” he ordered. “Asta is in shock, and her husband is ill. Leave them alone.” His voice had never sounded so menacing, even to his own ears, and he couldn‘t help be a trifle impressed with himself, even neck-deep in grief and worry.

Petri’s eyes closed. “I understand,” he said, and left the house, head bowed. Dorian turned back, hardened against any pity he might have felt, and locked the door behind him, and then set the strongest ward he knew. Tonight there would be no more surprises.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've altered the Canticle of Exaltations slightly, as would be appropriate when lranslating. But yes, that verse does exist, and it absolutely seems to be a reference to Fen'Harel.
> 
> Interesting, how they claim he eats hope, isn't it? ;)


	16. Making Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still angsty, but it will get better!

The next morning a bouquet of flowers arrived, a massive irregular arrangement of plants that ranged in meaning from regret, to sorrow, to wishing for healing, to friendship, to apology that made Asta raise her eyebrows in appreciation, even though she was tense and jittery from a night spent awake counting her husband‘s breaths. “Dorian,” she started, alarmed.

“He must have heard about this foible of yours after all,” the magister scowled. “His other arrangement… it had a meaning as well, didn‘t it?”

“I didn’t think so…” Asta thought back, “Vervain, and Sumac - those are for Enchantment and Intellectual Excellence,” she recalled with difficulty, despising that she had been wrong, “but the roses - well, roses have too many possibilities to be easily interpreted, but Cullen did say that he thought they were fascination,“ she admitted, folding her arm defensively. “He would know. I just thought it was a nice gesture.”

“A nice gesture would have been a fruit basket,” Dorian criticized. “Sent to both of you, not just _you_. Asta…” Her dear friend hesitated for a brief moment before pressing onward, chin in the air, determined to know the worst. “I want you to answer me honestly, Amica. Are you having an affair with Petri?”

Asta marched across the room, face empty of any emotion except rage, and slapped him, a red mark blooming on his darker cheek just a moment later. “Fuck you!”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Dorian relaxed. “Amica.”

“Dorian,” she gritted out between tears. “How _dare_ you.” She caught her breath on a sob. “That you would think… ever think I would… You know better than anyone how…”

“I deserved that,” he admitted easily, enormously relieved.

“Damn right you deserved it,” the red of her cheeks mirrored his, but with anger instead of impact.

“You both need to be smarter,” Max walked into the room, eyebrows raised at the altercation. “This was partially my fault as well, Dorian. I left him and Cullen alone, trying to spare Cullen from seeing Petri dance with her again, knowing they weren’t friendly, and I urged them to leave, before they made a scene. Cullen was already on edge about… something else that happened yesterday, and it was a situation more explosive than Gaatlok.”

“They should have controlled themselves,” Dorian hissed. “All of them. Petri, too.” He drug his hand through his hair, graying slightly at the temples, just as Maevaris had pointed out. Asta wrapped her arm around herself and held her elbow again. “We can use the attack as a distraction,” he decided. “We’ll focus on that, and not why they were leaving unfashionably early.” He slumped, and Asta saw the lines of stress in his face. “Maevaris will help.”

The guilt threatened to overwhelm Asta entirely. “I’m going to go see Cullen,” she said softly, and left her brother and friend alone, but stopped in the doorway. “Dorian… I’m sorry.”

“As am I, amica,” Dorian replied. “As am I.” They exchanged a brief look of sorrow, and then Asta removed herself.

“Max…” Dorian began, as soon as she was out of earshot. “What do you have for me?”

“I have news,” Max confirmed. “But you aren’t going to like it.”

“Go ahead, make my day even worse.” Dorian braced himself, arms stiff against the back of his chaise. “I’ve only been slapped by what may be my only friend in the world, after I accused her of cheating on her husband. How much worse can it get?” His tone was acrid with regret.

“They’re on their way out,” Max assured him swiftly. “That part went without a hitch. That’s the good news.”

“Give me the worst,” Dorian ordered again.

“Dorian, the attack on Asta was unrelated, but… we don’t know _who._ No one in the Jennies has any idea. These people are new.”

“Well, shit,” Dorian cursed briefly, but recovered quickly. “Ears to the ground. At least neither of those two fools will be going anywhere for a little while.” He paused, “Is Dalish back or was she needed elsewhere?” Max nodded. “Good. Send her out, if she‘ll go after not being there last night. Let it be her choice. Whatever she claims, we need a mage on this, and she’s the closest thing to a rogue trained mage we have.”

***

Upstairs in their room, Cullen feigned sleep, humiliated in a way he could only remember being once before, as Asta sat next to him and stroked his hair. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” she wiped her eyes on her arm, unwilling to stop touching him. “This is all my fault.”

His heart broke, and he opened his eyes at last, squinting against the too bright light. “Asta,” he tried to smile. “Don’t cry. I‘m fine.” His voice broke slightly.

“I can’t. You were hurt, because I was angry. Dorian is going grey, because of _me_. Everything is my fault.”

“My fault,” he corrected her softly. “Wasn’t strong enough. Couldn‘t protect you. Couldn‘t keep my mouth shut. Couldn‘t do anything.” He clenched his teeth, but released them when it hurt.

Asta shook her head, “Never think that. It’s not true,” she smoothed his hair again.

Cullen struggled to sit up, already impatient at being an invalid. “Help?” She helped brace him, and stacked pillows behind his back until he was almost uncomfortable. “It was a stupid thing to be angry about,” he tried to apologize.

Asta grew stiff. “What do you mean?”

“You would have told me eventually,” Cullen sighed. “About Petri… coming along.”

Asta hesitated. “Eventually,” she agreed, pulling out the words. “I knew, though, that you would be… and I avoided…”

Cullen’s shoulders drooped. “You thought I would be angry, and so you didn’t say anything?”

“Yes,” Asta said softly. “It was foolish, but I justified it by… I was always allowed to choose my own companions before.” She smoothed the fabric of the coverlet and couldn’t meet his eyes.

“And you are now, however much I dislike…” Cullen said huffily. “I wouldn’t have stopped…”

Asta bit her lips. “I don’t like it when you’re angry at me. And he saved our lives last night.”

Cullen humphed irritably, ashamed and bitter and wishing he had just kept pretending to sleep. “I know I certainly didn’t.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Asta stressed. “I thought you were _dead_ , Cullen. I would have died myself if…”

“Don’t lie,” Cullen argued. “I would have died, and you would have gone on…”

Asta wound her hand in the blankets, her heart stabbing in sharp rhythm at his accusation, “Are you suggesting that I… care less than you do?”

“Perhaps,” Cullen accused, feeling like an ass, but unable to stop himself from saying exactly the wrong thing. “You’re on a fine way to making a life here for yourself. Do you ever intend to go back to Skyhold?”

Asta’s eyes filled with tears again, this time fueled with anger and pain, “This isn’t _home_ ,” she choked, “I don‘t want…” she stood abruptly, too hurt to stay. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said coldly, the tears still falling. “I’ll send someone up with something to eat.” She staggered to the door, wiping the tears with the palm of her hand, and left, openly weeping.

“Asta…” Cullen started to call her back and then stopped, defeated. There was only one thing he could do.

***

The next day, Cullen rose before his wife, unable to sleep, and took a minute to look at her still tear marked face, while he struggled into his clothes with limbs that didn’t want to move quite the way they should.  Dane rose and joined him, despite his own stiff movements, as they went out to the markets just as the stores were opening and stocking their storefronts. He entered the first store he saw and stood there staring at the glass case filled with lyrium, frustrated and tempted and disgusted at the same time. Was it worth it? His mind ran through the familiar debate, at least as old as Ameridan itself.

“Can I help you?” The slave at the counter asked politely, noticing his interest in the lyrium. “We have a new shipment in just today, fresh from Kal-Sharok…”

“I…” Cullen hesitated, Asta’s voice clear in his mind, telling him that he was enough without the lyrium, promising they would leave Minrathous if he was even tempted. As if reading his mind, Dane growled menacingly, and made the attendant back up from the counter in fright. “Actually, I don’t,” he decided, instantly feeling the relief of resisting, tinged with only a little regret. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said gently. “I’m sorry to take your time.” He pushed his way through the rest of the early customers, desperate to get away before he changed his mind, more focused on that then politeness. “Thanks, Dane,” he muttered and the dog barked once, evidently irritated, but just as relieved. “Now what?” He started walking blindly, and the dog nudged him after a minute, directing him towards another stall, just being filled with flowers from a farmer‘s cart. “It won’t help,” he told the dog. “You know… you saw how mad she was. I blew it. Again. I swear, nothing has gone right since we entered this blighted city.”

The dog nudged him again, and Cullen’s shoulders fell. “All right,” he said softly. “I’ll listen. You‘re all smarter than I am.”

***

Cullen was already gone when Asta woke and went about getting ready, dressing with more speed than precision, refusing to wait for the maid, wanting to find her husband, not sure what she would say, but knowing that they had to talk. “Have you seen Cullen this morning?” she asked her brother upon entering the breakfast room, trying to be nonchalant, and failing miserably.

“Nope,” Max answered, brow furrowed. “I need to talk to him, too. If you see him, send him my way, will you?”

“We had another argument, yesterday,” Asta worried aloud, settled into the chair, stiffly leaning forward. “You don’t think…” Max raised an eyebrow, obviously wanting to stay out of it. “I’m sure he’ll be back,” she finished, unconvinced. She couldn’t eat, but choked down a cup of tea as a concession to manners, and made her way back to their room, relieved to see him standing by the windows, back to the door, “Cullen,” she smiled at seeing him, and he turned, flowers in his hand. “I'm so glad you're here.  I wanted…”

“I bought you these,” he interrupted, holding out the tulips. “I know it’s not enough, after what I said, but Dane wouldn’t let me buy lyrium. I need to…”

“Buy lyrium…” Asta paled, and jerked her open hand back from the flowers. “Cullen… you went to buy…” Her eyes were sharper than any dagger she had ever carried. “What the fuck were you thinking?” Her voice was deadly and quiet.

“That I wasn’t enough to protect you!” Cullen clenched his fist, crushing the stems in his hand and flinching at her rejection. “I told you, I would take lyrium again in a heartbeat if I thought I could…”

“I don’t want your protection if it means you have to take that _poison_!” Asta hissed back, livid in a way he had never seen her. “It isn’t worth it! How many times do I have to say it to get it through your thick skull?” Dane whined and covered his ears with his paws.

“Right, because the _dog lord_ is so much less intelligent than your precious librarian!” He threw at her, and she stepped back, face collapsing from anger into pain. “Your 'Vint archivist, who is far better at standing between you and your enemies, who can quote all the Dissonant Verses and read ancient Tevinter runes... He‘s perfect!”

“I don’t want your protection,” she hissed again, “and I don’t want perfection, Cullen! I want _you_. Free of lyrium, and with me, with all the memories we‘ve made together intact for as long as we both have. Lyrium would take it all away from us. If you don’t understand that, then maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought you were.” She turned and left, slamming the door behind her. It bounced back open with the force.

Cullen slumped to the floor, shaking, running his hands over his skull, the flowers strewn over the floor in a messy pile. “Shit,” he whispered after a few minutes. “I…” he pulled himself up, and made his way downstairs, searching for other people desperately. He needed people, people who could tell him what to do, tell him how to fix this. “Max,” he found his brother in law in the library. “I’ve made a huge mistake…”

Max crossed the room in two steps and punched him in the nose. Cullen saw it coming, and took the fist willingly. “You’ve made her cry, again,” he threatened. “I told you, Cullen, to stop making her cry.”

Cullen cringed, holding his nose, thankfully not bleeding, suspecting Max had pulled his punch. “I deserved that,” he admitted. “I… I keep messing up, Max. I know I do. What do I do?  Where is she?”

“Now you ask,” Dorian stalked in, scowling. “She’s with Emily, who is doing a better job at comfort than I could, with chocolate and handkerchiefs and really sad novels. Venhedis, what do you think you were doing? She said you went to buy _lyrium_! You know I don’t let that stuff in the house! Are we going to have to watch you like an infant? I won‘t let you keep hurting her, you…”

Cullen slumped further, a miserable puppy, and Dorian stopped his words, impatient, but willing to listen to his defense, given his evident remorse. “I went to see about buying some this morning,” he admitted. “I was… I’m shook up, Dorian. I couldn’t save her. It’s all my fault that she was in danger… I wasn‘t thinking straight, I was so worried about what happened, and all I could see was that lyrium would give me an edge…” for the first time in a while he searched for the pommel of his sword to stop the shaking of his hands, realizing only then he wasn‘t wearing it - had never belted it on that morning. “I was going to ask her if I should take it, let her talk me out of it… but Dane stopped me, convinced me not to buy any at all, and then I told her, in the worst possible way, and it was too late.” He summed up the situation lamely, cursing his inadequacy with words. “Fucking Maker, I’m hopeless.”

Dorian shifted his shoulders sideways, somewhat mollified. “Well, you’ve made a mess of things, trying to be honest. Just like you to make it worse with the truth.”

“You’re telling me.” Cullen looked up, eyes miserable and sunken with lack of sleep and stress. “I should leave Tevinter, leave her. She’d be better off…”

“Stop that,” Max ordered. “You know that’s not what she wants.”

“It’s the lyrium addiction talking, not him,” Dorian assured Asta’s brother. “Lyrium gives the user focus and burns away distractions - both good and bad. It’s one of the things that makes it so addictive - the psychological impact of having that purity of thought is very attractive, however fleeting.” The mage thought for a moment. “You’re just going to have to do better,” he decided, and Cullen nodded, morose. “Max, if you are free take the man to the flower district. You know what we need better than I do. It won‘t be enough, but it will be a start. We don‘t leave him to himself until he‘s himself again, agreed?”

Max nodded, resigned, “Purple Hyacinths, white Tulips and Peonies. Where ever you two end up, you should probably just plant an entire crop of those,” he curled his lip at his brother in law. “Something tells me you are going to need them.”

“Probably,” Cullen said, still miserable. “But she won’t forgive this so easily. I’ve never been so close to… not since I first told her… I’ve lost her trust. And the tulips I bought her are all over our bedroom floor…”

“We’ll have them cleaned up, and fill the room with new ones, and keep them coming. I would say you haven’t quite lost her trust, given that you told her the truth, and didn’t actually do it. We just have to convince Asta of that essential truth,” Dorian assured him. “But we‘ll need something else, Max. Something better.”

“I have the perfect thing,” Max grinned, teeth as sharp as any varghest. “Tell me, Dorian, does Emily have a dancing lesson this afternoon?”

Cullen blanched, “I can’t…”

“You fucking can and will,” Max ordered. “You’ll fix this, Cullen. I won’t let my sister be unhappy. You‘re her best shot at it, for some fucking reason. So damn it, you‘re going to learn to dance like a ‘Vint. Consider that your punishment.” He turned to Dorian, “He’ll stay in my room, if Asta won’t let him in theirs, on the couch. He won’t leave my sight.”  Dane barked abruptly, evidently offended.  "And Dane will help as well."  The dog grumbled.

“Good,” Dorian approved. “I’ll work on Asta, point out a few facts, appeal to her logic, and keep her distracted while Cullen works hard. She can hold a grudge like anything, once she gets started.” He exchanged a wry glance with Max. “Wish me luck?”

Max nodded in determined agreement. “Good luck.”

***

The dance lesson was in the ballroom, and Cullen was miserable, but so was Emily. “Dorian,” his daughter argued, “Why is this _torment_ necessary?” She was starting to use some of Dorian’s inflections in her spoken language, and lifted her chin as he occasionally did when trying to look imposing.

“You both need to know,” Dorian flashed stern eyes at both of them, but gentled for his ward. “As a wise woman once wrote, and I paraphrase, ‘dancing is one of the first refinements of polished societies*’.” His eyes went sideways to Cullen, “The same author said, ‘any savage can dance.’ I would assume that would mean dog lords as well.” Emily giggled, forgetting her own reluctance in Cullen‘s discomfort. He sat down in a chair by the door, obviously intending to observe. “Now then, pray continue. You won’t even know that I’m here.”

The dance master spent a great deal of time correcting Cullen’s stance, and lecturing him on the placement of his hands and elbows and so on. “How is this going to help?” Cullen said desperately, after the first few minutes of Emily stumbling over her feet, unable to follow him. “I’ve lost her trust. I should just go home,” he stated glumly. “Wherever the Void that is. Maybe South Reach. Let Mia kill me for hurting her. Anywhere but here.”

“Nonsense, if you leave now you’ll lose her forever. The very fact that she’s this angry shows how much she loves you. I’m not going to let that happen to either of you. And as far as dancing is concerned, you have potential, but you lack confidence,” Dorian instructed him. “Here, unhand my daughter, you boorish man, and I will show you,” he stood and marched over to Cullen, holding his arms out. “Lead,” he ordered.

“What?” Cullen blinked, and moved his hands awkwardly, trying to figure out where to grasp.

“It’s no different,” the dance master sighed, used to Dorian butting into his daughter's lessons. “Just… lead.” The musicians played a slow tune, and Cullen started, a few steps late, but hurried to catch up and fell into the rhythm a little more easily, brow furrowed with concentration, but not looking at his feet, at least.

“As I thought,” Dorian chuckled, “You don’t trip over yourself if you aren’t being shy.” Cullen was far more commanding dancing with him. “Much better,” he purred. “You can take a turn with me anytime.” Cullen blushed, but kept going. “So we have to get you past the point of being shy to dance with your wife,” he sighed. “Alcohol?” He asked the dance master over his shoulder, as Emily giggled at them both, enjoying the sight a bit too much, and the reprieve from one of her most detested lessons.

“Not advisable, it will make him sloppy,” the dance master shrugged. “I’d say practice with your ward, until he is confident enough not to stumble. And then, one glass of strong wine, to get him over the actual moment of truth.”

“How long is this ridiculous endeavor going to take?” Cullen grumped, turning Dorian, who disengaged and waved Emily back in. The girl approached reluctantly. “I don’t want to leave Asta time to decide she truly hates me…”

“I studied dancing for ten years before my parents dared take me to my first formal dance. You‘ll just have to replace your daily training with _this ridiculous endeavor_ ,” Dorian told him, brutally blunt. “Think of it as cross training. You already have the basics, so…” he looked at the dance master. “Are you booked solid, maestro?”

“I could squeeze in an extra student,” the man admitted, after some thought. “And Miss Pavus could use extra practice.” The girl groaned audibly. “Don’t stop,” the Master urged Cullen, who was hesitating again when confronted with the young woman. “She’s a girl, not a dragon! She can’t kill you.”

“Not yet,” Emily threatened menacingly, making Cullen chuckle despite his foul mood and spin her a little more easily. “Give me another six months with my Entropy tutor and we’ll see.” Dorian beamed like the proud father he was.

“Better,” the Master approved the change in Cullen’s demeanor. “We’ll make a dancer of you yet.”

“Apparently we just have to threaten him with death,” Dorian hummed with approval. “Something to keep in mind. Now, my dancing master cast glyphs all over the floor, so that if I took a misstep I would know it. Shall we give that a try?”

“Not unless he is unable to concentrate,” the master decided, with a devious look in his eye. Cullen immediately straightened and focused. “Much better.”

***

Asta left the house the next day - the other denizens strangely missing - in the company of an even grimmer Grim and a trifle more serious than usual Dalish, with the intention of burying herself in her work.

She entered the library like she owned it, ordering the assistants around as if she were a magister herself, and searching out what they couldn’t locate on her own, finally learning her way around the massive archive in the absence of her dedicated help. She never caught a glance of Petri as she worked, barely sparing herself time to consider the lack of his presence, as she pressed to finish her personal project. Her argument started to fall into place, and she found herself wishing a few times for someone to bounce her interpretations off of, wondering how far off the mark she was getting.

But they were all so busy, and she convinced herself she was better off working alone. Even Dorian had let up on the social appearances, much to her gratitude. She assumed that the invitations had slacked off since their little scene so many weeks ago.

Flowers kept appearing all over the house, but since she arrived back long after dark, usually far beyond when anyone else might be awake, she rarely had to acknowledge their arrival, except to remove them from whatever surface she needed to use. Often she chose to sleep in the library rather than disturb Cullen’s uneasy rest with her presence.

It was lonely, but she was making progress. That would have to be enough, she argued with herself, as she wrote the final line, bowing her head over the paper.

The men in her life had just left her to get on with it. But she was done. Soon, if Varric kept his promise, it would be published, and her knowledge would be open to the world, at least until the Chantry placed the book on its ‘especially banned‘ list. That was inevitable, but would probably have the opposite effect - only the most devout would avoid the book. Such inclusion might actually press the publication into profitability.

She rose and went to the window, hearing the door open behind her. “Hello,” her husband’s voice seemed… cold and hesitant, and she shivered. “I wondered if you would be here.  Have you…”

“I’m finished, except for fact-checking and some minor details,” she replied, even more coldly than she thought he was being, “Going for a walk with Dane?” Dane grumbled noncommittally. “Must be nice to get some exercise.”

“You could… join us,” Cullen offered, with what seemed like reluctance. “If you like?”

“I don’t push myself where I’m not wanted,” Asta replied bitterly. “Right now, I believe I will go see if I can find something…” she turned and saw him with a plate in his hands, and a sheaf of flowers wrapped in paper in the crook of his arm. “Oh,” she said, inadequately.

“I thought you might be…” he rubbed his neck with his hand.

“I am,” Asta nodded towards the little table. “Thank you.” Cullen set it down, and turned to leave. “Already leaving?” She raised an eyebrow, as cold and sarcastic as the Madame de Fer. “That is quick. I know I haven‘t been the most engaging company lately, but…”

“I don’t push myself where I’m not wanted, either,” Cullen swallowed in sudden regret, flinching at his own words. “That is... I...”

Asta shook her head, disappointed, but full of despair. “Just go, Cullen. I…”

“Are you still going out to the library tomorrow?” Cullen asked quickly, a level of desperation in his voice that she couldn‘t understand. “Even though…”

“I don’t think so,” Asta stared at the plate, expressionless. She hadn’t felt this awkward since her first War Council, when they had declared her the Herald of Andraste. “I don’t want to risk running into… but that’s no matter. I‘ll need to start studying Fen‘Harel again, soon enough, but I‘m going to give myself a few days.  I need to find some clarity in my thoughts first.”

“Asta, I am…” Cullen broke off his words, and Asta actually looked at him for the first time, and felt her heart twinge, realizing that he wasn't being cold at all, just sorry and feeling inadequate.  She was such a fool. “I am sorry for disappointing you,” he finished quietly, and then slipped out the door before she could stop him.

“Cullen…” Asta murmured, but the door had already clicked shut. “Damn it,” she rubbed her forehead. “You aren’t the disappointing one, Cullen,” she muttered angrily, and prepared for bed, opting to ignore the food, jerking out of her clothes abruptly, and burying herself in the blankets, knowing that he wouldn’t return until he was sure that she would be sleeping.

When he finally returned, and slid under the covers, obviously trying to be sensitive, she was still awake though motionless, her brain too active to let her rest despite closed eyes, her conscience full of turmoil. “Asta,” he sighed, and brushed the end of her hair on her pillow with his fingers. “I’m such an idiot,” he confessed in a barely audible whisper. “I could spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, and I never could. There’s nothing I can say or do or... But I love you,” his voice broke, and Asta opened her mouth to reply, to say that she forgave him, and then closed it again, quietly. “Maker’s Breath, I love you. I wish I could tell you to your face. I wish I hadn’t ruined everything.” After that, all was quiet, as Asta’s tears soaked the pillow and eventually the side of her face.

But they both laid awake, on opposite sides of the bed and listened to each other breathing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *It's a Jane Austen quote, from 'Pride and Prejudice', naturally. Tevinter society would love her, and Dorian reads everything. ;)


	17. Now, Kiss.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW towards the middle/end. I wanted to break it out, but this is one of those times when I really think that smut contributes to the plot, so I'm not doing it.
> 
> You should be able to skip it fairly easy, if you aren't interested.

“I’ll see it safe,” Max assured her, taking the large packet of a manuscript. “The Jennies will get it to Varric.” Asta was finished with the fact checking, still working long hours, despite her assertion that she was going to take some time off. Every time she tried to quit, her conscience started complaining to her. Work was far easier than sorting out her feelings. “I’ll see you tonight,” Max managed, before letting himself out of her room.

Alone again, she hunched over the last stack of reference books on her desk, already wrapped in paper for returning to the Library, finally forced to confront her own thoughts. She was strangely… empty now that she was done, and she had to decide where she would go from here. She couldn’t leave the Imperium, not yet, given that she still had Fen’Harel to figure out, and still had a year before her exile would be rescinded, but… now that she couldn’t fill her days and put off her worries about Cullen with her research… what was left? If she tried to move on to the next puzzle, she ended up in a mental spiral dragging her deeper into any abyss she had ever seen in her travels.

Thinking about Fen’Harel just led her to Cullen’s last conversation with the man. Ruminating on the section of Exaltations that seemed to discuss him led her to thinking about whether it was really possible that he had loved Andraste under the name Shartan, which just led her to her own marriage and how horrible everything was right now.

All her thoughts led her to Cullen, and her own despicable behavior towards him in the last weeks.

She regretted her actions, she forced herself to admit. She had flown off the handle, even if he had insinuated… she made herself take a deep breath. That even Dorian and Cullen had questioned the nature of her relationship with Petri was disturbing, and she needed to recognize that, even if it was insulting. Dorian’s culture, at least, was nearly notorious for extramarital affairs, not that it excused him… he should have known that she would never… Asta clenched her teeth. She was only covering well-trodden ground with that line of thought, and she forced herself to move on.

As for Cullen…, Asta sighed, and braced herself over the desk with her arms. She had no idea that he was capable of that level of jealousy, and she ruminated about her behavior with other people over the years, including Dorian, cursing mentally. She hadn’t flirted with anyone besides Dorian, she concluded eventually, even when they flirted first. But if Cullen would speak to her, they needed to talk about this. At length. She swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering how often he _had_ been jealous. Had he even been jealous of Dorian before they… she bit off a curse. Of course he had. This knowledge put so much of his early hesitancy and sometimes cold greetings into perspective. He had thought she was _playing_ with him. All the times she had run up to the library after getting to Skyhold, greeting Dorian enthusiastically with some new knowledge, even before she let herself into the Commander’s tower… he must have felt…

In his position, she would have assumed the worst as well, and probably wouldn’t have been as patient as Cullen had proved to be.

For the rest of it, he hadn’t actually bought the Maker-damned lyrium, much less used it, and Dane had proved himself reliable. She reminded herself to find the dog some treats as a belated thank you. She had leapt, not so gracefully, to horrible conclusions. But apologizing for her own mistakes… was it too late? Cullen was avoiding her, she was sure, even while she admitted that she hadn’t been making herself available, either. Not for the first time she wished madly that Cole hadn’t taken up with Maryden, though by all accounts he was having the time of his life, judging by the halting letters that she had received from him from all over Southern Thedas. But everyone in the Inquisition had become far too dependent on the man to help. He deserved to have his own life, just like everyone else. To make his own choices, even if they were bad ones. That was part of being mortal, after all.

Not that Cole would ever make a bad decision, she was sure. At least not lately…

“I am a fool,” Asta sighed aloud in conclusion to the books in front of her. They didn’t reply, not that she was really expecting them to. “That’s what Cole would probably say if he was here, only far more poetically.”

“Quite right,” Dorian agreed instead, slipping in and closing her door after a maid followed him. “Are you ready to prepare for tonight’s event? Forgive me for intruding, but I am assuming your pity party for one is finally ready to be interrupted by a real party for several hundred?” He quipped, folding his arms across his chest, shoulders tense and obviously ready to fight in order to get his way.

“Dorian, I don’t want to go anywhere,” Asta sighed, “Just… go without me. I don‘t want to go out at all without… I should stay home and find my husband and try to make up somehow for these last few weeks… assuming it isn‘t too late. It‘s probably too late.”

“Well, at least you’re finally coming to your senses, but as for staying home: that’s just nonsense,” Dorian dismissed her complaints. “You’re going. This is an important night, we accepted the invitation months ago, before you started building walls with books to put off everyone that cares about you.” He pulled at her gently, aiming her towards the dressing screen. “And Cullen will be there. He promised me he wouldn‘t back out.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s meeting us there,” Dorian replied evasively, “Not that it matters, since you two are barely speaking to each other.”

“I’ve barely seen him since that morning,” Asta justified. “He’s been avoiding me, just as I‘ve been... And I’m still… scared. What if he hadn’t listened to Dane? What if he had taken it? Even if you are telling the truth and he wanted me to talk him out of it, still…”

“I know,” Dorian eyed her clothing with a curled lip. “Do you really think that I haven’t thought about all the iterations of what might have been? I’m Cullen’s friend as well as yours, Amica. That he was so close to throwing all his progress away _chills_ me. But he didn’t, and that makes a great deal of difference. You know it does. So get dressed, Asta. The blue one,” he told the maid who had followed him into the room.

“No,” Asta narrowed her eyes. “Cullen liked that dress, and you’re trying to manipulate him. Or both of us. Let me stay home… let us both stay home and try to…”

“Of _course_ I’m manipulating you! Both of you! Cullen could use some manipulating,” her friend assured her with an amused twitch of his moustache. “Maker knows he’s probably having to take care of things himself lately since you won’t forgive… but he‘s not being given much opportunity. He‘s always with someone.”

Asta hunched. “I’m still… hurt. I can’t forget that he thought I…”

“Do you honestly think he isn’t having the same problem?! _You_ thought he would take the lyrium! _You’re_ holding a grudge. He didn‘t buy it, Asta. He came back, apologized, confessed, and you yelled and rejected him as if he had actually taken the damn stuff,” Dorian threw his hands in the air. “Now… put on the dress or I’ll do it for you. You are going to this party, Maker help me, if I have to drag you in that set of pajamas you used to wear around Skyhold. I know you brought them, so don‘t deny it. Your attachment to that horrible outfit borders on disturbing.”

“Fine,” Asta went behind the screen, and the maid joined her to help.

“All of it,” Dorian called out. “Right down to the knickers, Amica.”

Asta grumbled irritably, but complied, coming out looking far less entrancing than the first time she had worn the ensemble, grumpy, too pale, and depressed in the full length mirror reflecting her. “It looks ridiculous.” The maid was already fussing with her hair, pulling out the pins from her simple braid and rearranging the strands in a far more complex clover shape on the back of her head. “It doesn’t suit me, Dorian. Nothing this elaborate would.” She stared herself down, as if daring herself to become more attractive.

“It suits you fine when you’re smiling, my dear,” Dorian corrected gently, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Let’s get you ready.” He waved her over to her dressing table, and the attendant started on her face. “I think by the end of the night you’ll be smiling again.” Asta took off her normal attachment and put on the dress one with the cleverly concealed dagger. “Care for a wager on the outcome?”

Asta narrowed her eyes even further, down to tiny slits. “Who are you, Varric?” She asked crisply. “This is more than just an important party, isn’t it, Dorian. What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Dorian chuckled lightly. “Why would there be something going on? I’m just your closest friend and confidant, after all. Why would I plan something that might improve your ultimate happiness?” He let the attendant work for a few minutes, and while Asta had her eyes closed let his sadness over the state of things cross his face. “Now… lets see you,” she faced him in the mirror again, eyes bleak. “Perfect,” he said with some pride, his own mask of bravado already back in place. “You’ll break at least one heart tonight.”

“I’d rather have two mended,” Asta replied softly. “But he shouldn’t forgive me. I should have trusted him. I should have stayed instead of walking out. I‘ve made too many mistakes to be forgiven so easily.” She paused, “Dorian, I owe you an apology as well. I should never have slapped you.” She grabbed his hand over her shoulder, and turned to face him fully.

“You were both in the wrong, as was I, and your brother. We‘re all human, and prone to such things. I am magnanimous, as well as handsome, and forgive you completely,” Dorian replied airily, and fixed the golden net of a hood to fit over her intricately braided hair, now much longer again. “Let’s go,” he offered his arm and Asta took it, sad and reluctant. “Cheer up,” he urged her again. “After all, you’ve finished your book. You, my dear Inquisitor, are going to be published, assuming Varric‘s publisher has a death wish. Think of tonight as a celebration, if nothing else, for the soon to be most popular historian since Genetivi. Everyone who can read _will_ read the Inquisitor‘s book, after all.”

But somehow Asta couldn’t bring herself to care.

***

Their carriage pulled up to another manor house, impressive once again with the play of lights and sound, but Asta could tell, even from outside, that it was a far better orchestra playing the music. Dorian dropped out of the carriage first and handed her down, taking her arm again, and nodding to Grim, back in place at the top of the carriage, and to Dalish, sitting next to him. “Where is Cullen?” Asta asked at once, hanging back a little in unusual shyness.

“Inside,” Dorian assured her. “Did you think he’d meet you at the front steps? He’ll be with Max, who isn‘t going to wait on the steps, even if Cullen tried to drag him. Cullen hasn’t been left alone since, you know. Not until we know he won’t do something foolish. Your brother is sick of him.”

Asta nodded, pale under her makeup, and stared at the elaborate shoes peeping out from under her gown as she made her way up the flight of stairs. “Dorian, I think we’re going to have to leave Minrathous sooner rather than later. Assuming Cullen can and will forgive me… we need to get out of here.”

“I know,” he squeezed her hand, sounding sad and resigned. “It’s not a good place for either of you. I’m not sure it’s a good place for anyone, honestly, but…” he sighed. “Well, I have to try. I’ll know when or if it’s time for me to leave. As the assassination attempts increase, I‘ll know I‘m making a difference. There‘s a direct correlation. Remind me to show you the research sometime.” Asta leaned against his shoulder, missing him already. “I’ll be all right, Amica,” he answered without her asking, and smiled and squeezed her arm. “I want you both to be happy. That isn’t possible, here. Now, chin up, before you muss your makeup and stain my clothes, and smile,” he told her. “Light up the room, Asta.” The doors opened for her and she glided in, searching for the one person she wanted to see, even while she was announced, with every single title she had earned, and a few she hadn‘t.

***

Cullen and Max stood idly by the sommelier, both nursing a mediocre red wine while they waited for the rest of their party to arrive, positioned to have a clear view to the main door. “This is ridiculous,” Cullen muttered, tugging at the clothes both Max and Dorian had demanded that he wear, “I feel like enough of a fool without having to dress like one, too.”

“Perhaps, but looking like a fool might help my sister forgive you,” Max criticized. “Quit looking like a kicked dog, Cullen, and stop fidgeting and straighten up. She’s here.” He nodded idly in the direction of the entrance just as Dorian and Asta were announced, Dorian first, but Asta’s list of titles lasting for a much more significant amount of time.

“Inquisitor Asta Rutherford, vindicator of the Southern Mage Rebellion, vanquisher of the Southern Templar order, patron of the former Magister Gereon Alexius, vanquisher of the Venatori cult, co-discoverer of Ameridan’s Tomb, victor over the false god Corypheus, Dragonslayer…”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen swallowed his wine in a hurry as the litany of honors finally came to an end, coughed, and brushed at his clothes, worried that he had spilled on the fabric. “She’s here…” He couldn’t drag his eyes away from her, almost glowing under the light of all the candles in the room, the gossamer cloak picking up the light and casting it back as if she was a spirit in the Fade.

“Go,” Max grumbled and nudged him forward. “She’s your wife, not a stranger.” He stared at his sister. “I’ve never seen her look this good, though,” he admitted. “Not even on your wedding day. A word of advice? If she‘s reluctant to forgive you, tell her about Hermes and the rest. Take all the credit, if you like. Worth it, to have you off my couch. Now _go_.” Cullen handed him his empty glass, and crossed to meet her as their eyes locked across the room, hers far too sad for the cheerful air of the assembly, most of which was still chattering about her many titles. “Godspeed,” Max chuckled in relief, and took another glass of wine for himself.

Cullen gulped when he came close, but bowed as Dorian had spent weeks teaching him, “Magister Pavus,” he quirked a half-smile, confronting his wife with a look mixed equally between hope, love, panic and desperation. “May I tear your escort from your side?” Asta stared at him, from the crown of impeccably styled hair - artistically rumpled just the way he hated it - to his all too tight pants and Tevinter style dress coat and swallowed visibly, biting her lips. Cullen squashed his embarrassment down, knowing that she was probably amused, and damning Dorian and Max for putting him through this humiliation.

“Naturally,” Dorian nearly purred with triumph at the flush on Asta‘s face that threatened to wash away her sadness, he at least recognizing it for what it was. “Go, have fun, you two,” he waved them away. “Kiss and make up. _I’m_ going to go find the wine. Looks like Max beat me there and I can‘t let him get too far ahead.” He abandoned them easily, with confidence in his own skills.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen took her hand bravely when she didn’t offer and kissed it, and then pulled out the small posy that he had tucked away earlier that evening, a bound bouquet of lilies of the valley, for return of happiness, in a small golden pin. “May I presume?” With her still stunned nod, he fastened it on her breast with shaking fingers. “May I have this dance?”

“Dance?” Asta blinked in surprise, and then pursed her mouth in suspicion, eyes still sad. “Is this what Dorian was so giddy about?”

“Perhaps,” Cullen answered cautiously, unsure how much Dorian had shared. “Will you, milady?”

“Of course,” Asta admitted. “You only had to ask, Ser Knight,” her eyes shone, but with sadness, not excitement. “I’d rather dance with you than anyone in the room.” Her voice was quiet, and honest, and full of regret and Cullen‘s heart ached at the sound. She placed her gloved hand into his as he led her out to the floor.

“You are the only person in the room,” Cullen smiled hopefully, squeezing her hand. “All of these other people… don’t exist,” he breathed in her ear as he pulled her close. “We’re completely alone.” He could have sworn that the very candles burned brighter in her presence, even as he tried to convince himself that no one would be watching him make a fool of himself. He should have had a second glass of wine after all.

“Is that so?” Asta was still stiff, but he was steering her through the steps with confidence, growing further encouraged given that he hadn‘t tripped or stepped on her already. “Cullen… you’re…” her face brightened a little more despite her caution and guilt, “dancing. Really dancing.”

“I’ve been studying with Emily,” he laughed, and perfectly in time, whirled her into the maelstrom of the couples. “We’ve both some catching up to do, regarding what we‘ve been doing with our time,” he offered very shyly and spun her out with the others into the center of the floor, bringing her back in and holding her around the waist, far too closely for good form, but by deliberate choice, suddenly ceasing to care if anyone was watching. “You’ve been so busy, and I… have been learning a few things. Some the hard way.”

“You learned this… for me?“ Asta murmured, looking up through her eyelashes, moved.

“Always for you,” Cullen replied, his eyes begging hers. “I apologize for everything… I don’t like being weak - especially in front of you. I‘m spending a lot of time being weak here. Tevinter isn‘t bringing out the best... I didn‘t - I knew you‘d talk me out of the lyrium, like you did before, but I shouldn‘t have even considered… I should have talked to you first…” his words fell over each other, tripping over themselves the way his feet were refusing to, tonight. Maybe Dorian had cast a spell? Maker knew he had never managed to do this well in practice, but leading Asta was… easy. Like she could read his mind.

“I already have forgiven you,” Asta admitted, searching his face. “It’s myself I can’t forgive. I was so foolish about the... Dane kept you safe… and I overreacted. But I‘m scared…”

“So am I,” Cullen murmured. “I’m afraid I’ve lost you forever, to someone who might be your better match, and to my own addiction.”

Asta closed her eyes and let him guide her deeper into the dance. “You will never lose me.” She opened her eyes, honest and frightened, but stubborn, knowing that she had to say it. “Petri is no competition. He never was, despite your best efforts to make him so. But that you thought I could ever…” It was her voice that broke for once, and Cullen’s heart rose into his throat and he pulled her into his arms to breathe into her ear.

“Can I be so bold as to claim all your dances this evening, Inquisitor?”

She smiled brightly, the lights picking up the tears in her eyes, “You already have,” she purred, even as she stepped away from him to pull at his arm, drawing him through the large doors opening into the garden, searching for a shadowy corner to provide a modicum of privacy. “I only want to dance with you,” she answered, twining her arms around his neck when she found a suitable spot between a stone wall and a pavilion. She lifted her face to him, and after only a moment of hesitation, his eyes shifting between her longing eyes and her lips, he complied with the silent request, savoring the taste of her lips. Weeks, it had been, lost to a stupid fight. “Cullen,” she whined, and pressed herself against him. He tightened his grip on her hips and then slid his hands behind her, still reluctant with his own guilt haunting his thoughts. But she felt so… nice. “Kiss me,” she demanded with a tug and he answered the only way he could, meeting her lips again and instantly forgetting where he was.

Their tongues were more practiced by far than they were on the dance floor, more fluent than either’s words, and Asta wouldn’t let him break away to finish spitting out the words, twisting her hand into his hair to hold him against her, and so, hands shaking with a different desire than lyrium, he unfastened her glimmering cloak to slide it away and off her shoulders, tracing a hand against the side of her breast, so barely confined in the tight gown. “What… what may I do?” he nearly begged when she let him come up for air. “It’s been weeks, and I… I want… I… I haven‘t… But we shouldn‘t… not before we work this out…” his self control was already cracking, and shattered with her next words.

“I want you,” Asta told him bluntly, and her face grew wicked, a single eyebrow arching up. “I have my lock picks. We could sneak upstairs and…”

Cullen choked, “Here? Now? We should finish talking about…”

“We can’t risk leaving,” Asta pressed her lips together. “Not after what happened last time. What do you say, Cullen ‘We Shouldn’t Be Doing This’ Rutherford? Want to sneak into a spare bedroom and do something naughty?” She traced her hand up the inside of his thigh pointedly, her very touch a dare, even as her eyes gleamed innocently. “We can talk there.”

“Maker‘s Mercy, yes,” Cullen gave in all at once.

“Follow me, then,” Asta leaned out of their shadowy corner and pulled them through the light of the windows, somehow managing to look polite and proper, despite her unfastened cloak hanging half off her shoulders, back towards the house, towards a smaller door to the right of the ballroom‘s open doors. “Oh good, unlocked,” she grinned upon trying it and slid inside the building, followed closely by her husband. A servant’s staircase curved upwards, and a hallway before them, but she followed the stairs, holding up her skirts and nearly running up the long narrow flights, panting only slightly at the top. “Damn, I‘m going to have to start running stairs again,” she managed, hand against her stomach. “Too many days at my desk in a row, combined with too tight lacing, I suppose. I can barely breathe in this outfit. At least these stairs are for a good cause?” Another wider hallway, more regal looking and clearly for guests instead of slaves, stretched before them, the house silent except for the noise of the distant music. “Start trying doors,” she urged him, hiking up her skirts with her prosthesis to reach where her lock picks were slid into her garter. Cullen heard her, but watched her leg instead, stepping forward to run a gloved hand over the back of her thigh. “Cullen,” she laughed haltingly with a slight shiver, “Pay attention. It has to be a locked one, so that no one suspects an unlocked door suddenly being locked. I want to be naughty, not stupid.” He ignored her instructions, pulled off his glove and slid his fingers up the back of her leg towards the edge of her smallclothes.

“I can’t resist you,” he murmured. “Not even to try doors.” He stroked her firmly, sliding beneath to find her underneath.

“I won’t be able to pick the lock,” she giggled at the slide of his hand, overly sensitive to his touch after weeks of abstinence. “Cullen - we can‘t - not in a hallway!” He sighed, his cock having a far different opinion, and broke himself away from her to rattle the closest door. “Locked, good,” she knelt down, flipping out the dagger on her prosthesis to brace against the lock. “Keep an eye out for trouble, Ser Knight,” she flashed a daring look at him. He slid his hand down and cupped a breast instead, sliding a single finger between her and the cloth separating her from the rest of his hand. “That isn’t what I meant, Cullen,” Her breath hitched with a breathy chuckle, but in the next minute the lock clicked, and Asta frowned, “That was far too easy, considered how long its been since I picked a lock.” But she opened the door anyway, slowly, in case it was occupied after all. “The coast is clear,” she smiled, seeing the bed and banked fire. Cullen allowed her to pull him inside and locked the door behind him with the last of his coherent thoughts. He stumbled forward in the almost dark room, finding her again almost by accident, lifting her up by her shoulders to his mouth.

He kissed her almost fiercely, denied for far too long. He pulled up her wide skirts to find her legs again, and the garters around her thighs. “I’m…” he broke away to lift her up against him, and back her to the bed, letting the skirts fall behind her and over his arms. “I’m going to taste you,” he groaned the promise. “Now,” he dropped her down, bouncing her on the thick bed, and knelt before her, grasping her hips and pulling her into his mouth and suckling her over her lacy smallclothes. “I can’t wait,” he shoved them aside after the first minute, his words falling over themselves, trying to make her understand. “I need you more than anything, more than water, more…” he flicked his tongue against her, and then delved inside, moaning in appreciation. “I need to taste you, drink you…” He dropped one of her thighs in order to unlace his pants and pull himself out, the pressure being too painful to ignore, and then pressed his mouth back against her almost too hard for either’s comfort.

“Shit,” Asta fell back against the excess fabric of her skirts, almost pillowed on the cloth, her elbows too wobbly to hold herself up. “Cullen… I’m…” she panted and moaned suddenly, jerking up against him.

“Go ahead,” Cullen sucked on her nerves, making her whine and try to stifle her sounds with her hand. “It will only be the first time,” he promised, and curled his tongue around her clit. “Even once we leave this infernal place, and go back to the house, I swear you aren’t sleeping,” he promised with a smirk.

Asta shuddered and cried out. “Cullen!”

“Again,” he demanded. “Tell me that it’s only me.” He stroked her in encouragement. “I’ll never ask again, if you tell me now. I‘ll never doubt again.”

“Only…” she panted, and then met his pleading eyes, “you. Always you.”

“Asta,” he groaned, buried in her folds, and humming with the pleasure of her words and her taste, feeling more confident, more brave then he had in his entire life with her words.

“Cullen” she warned.

“So wet,” he stroked her hard, and she bucked up against his mouth. “Stay still, love,” he forced out, holding her down with the palm of his hand against her lower abdomen, and then with a single tug, pulled the smallclothes free of her body. “You won’t be needing these tonight,” he vowed, raising his eyebrow with a hopeful half-smile, and curled two of his fingers inside immediately, pressing. “Will you?”

“No,” Asta agreed instantly, arching into his hand. “Need you more. More…” she begged.

He added a third finger, sliding inside a little slower. “How’s that, love?”

“More,” she begged, and he started to move, stroking and curling, building up the desire that lay coiled in her belly. “More! Cullen, more!” Instead of complying, he pulled his fingers out, using her arousal to stroke himself now, shaking with his own need, repeating _not yet_ over and over again in his head in an attempt to stay in control.

“You need me,” he said, staring at her, shaking. “Say it,” he ordered.

“I‘ll always need you,” Asta swore, eyes firm. “Please, Cullen?”

He sheathed himself in a single thrust, nearly overcome in the moment, and had to stop, cursing, while Asta arched against him, begging him with her body and words to move again. He couldn’t resist her, and they found their rhythm, as he kissed, too passionately for precision, down her neck towards the neckline of her dress, popping her breast free of the bodice, and devouring the nipple with teeth and tongue. She lost herself, rippling around him in a chorus of sounds, a discordant melody to the music they could still hear from below, but he didn’t stop, wouldn’t, couldn‘t.

He lifted her up from the bed - careless of her weight in the heat of the moment - and laid down with her over him, pressing her back down around him with a muffled curse, the impossible dress floating around them both. He pulled the other breast out of her bodice and attacked it, and drove deep inside, pulling down on her hips and lifting her up to do it again, and again. She arched back and moaned, and he emptied inside her, pumping in the same rhythm as her pulse against his lips. She started to relax, but he just lifted her up, determined. “Hold on,” he muttered, focused, and flipped her over again as if she weighed nothing at all, her stomach against the bed.

“Cullen?” She sounded shaken, and more than a little confused.

“Stay there,” he said gently, stroking her again, and collapsing back to his knees beside the bed, in order to press his mouth back to her cunt, his arms wrapped around her thighs, determined to have her come again on his lips. She pressed back against his mouth urgently, and he pressed his fingers back inside, stroking with his tongue.

“I’ve… missed you,” Asta panted, trying to find her words again. “I hate fighting…”

“Shush,” he ordered, and rubbed against her nerves. “Asta,” he groaned, as she just kept moving over his fingers and lips. “I love you, my Inquisitor. Maker’s Breath, I love you. Forgive me, I beg you.”

“Love,” she panted, crying out once more. “Cullen!” He felt the throbbing pulse of her release against his tongue, and the relaxation that followed and her soft laughter afterwards. Cullen climbed back on their borrowed bed, rolled her over, and kissed her deeply, unwilling to let their interlude come to an end. He laid down next to her and pulled her half on top of him, Asta languid now that their immediate desires were fulfilled. “Of course, I do,” she finally answered his final questions, and kissed his forehead. “I‘m sorry, too. Forgive me?”

Cullen started to chuckle, and then he buried his head in her still freed breasts, kissing them both in a sudden impulse. “What’s to forgive? I’m sorry about…” he managed, indicating the situation, not quite in response. “I just… couldn‘t control myself.”

“I liked it,” Asta said softly, stroking his hair with her fingertips, as if marveling that he had actually let Dorian do something so frivolous with it. “I… thought perhaps you didn’t… want me anymore. It’s been so long… and I wasn‘t… kind…”

Cullen jerked his head up. “Is that what you thought? How could you think…”

Asta smiled sadly, “You were always at the kennels, and then I… and then I hardly saw you. I thought maybe you didn’t…” a single tear leaked from her eye, immediately wiped away with his thumb. “And then I was _horrible_ to you. You were trying _so hard_ … all those flowers, Cullen, I loved them. I did notice, in the midst of being a bitch…” she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Cullen shook his head, and stroked the loosened braids of her hair. “I promised to love you forever,” he reminded her. “That’s never going to change. I‘ll just have to make sure you remember. I shouldn‘t have been jealous. I should have known… you kept trying to tell me.” Asta squeezed him awkwardly, and then sat up, trying to stuff her breasts back into her bodice, cursing at the difficulty. “Leaving already?” He reached a couple of fingers into the dress and popped the first back out again just as she got the second settled.

“Cullen!” Asta shook her head, laughing at him fondly. “We can’t stay up here all night. People will wonder where we are. And we‘re going to have to talk properly, sooner or later. Preferably sooner, and fully clothed. About your jealousy, and our insecurities… We can‘t let this happen again.” She started to shift off the bed and blushed at the sight of her smallclothes, torn on the floor. “Cullen, you ripped my…”

“You won’t need them,” he flashed, suddenly wanting her all over again. “And this way, I will be all too aware of what you don’t have on underneath that,” he nodded at her still immodest clothing. “And perhaps we can manage to convince Dorian to leave early, if we behave inappropriately enough,” he chuckled again, and stood up. “Stay there, and I’ll find us something to clean up with. Maybe a towel…” he winked and headed for the water closet. “If the occupant of this room is going to find smallclothes on their floor, then they won’t begrudge us the use of a hand towel, surely?” He disappeared, and Asta sighed critically and grabbed her smallclothes to drop them into a wastebasket immediately. “Cleaning up after me?”

“Always,” she laughed. “Now, help me hide my nipples. Fuck this gown anyway. How did they fit in the first place?”

“I rather like them where they are,” Cullen teased, but gave in, pulling her stays loose and tying them again as she put herself away and tidied her hair as well as she could, Cullen sliding in pins inexpertly, dropping them on the floor as often as he managed to get one to stay. A few minutes later, they slipped out the door, locking it behind them securely, and were down the servants’ stair with a giggle on her side and a squeeze on his, smiling.

***

“There you are!” Dorian shook his head at them from his place by the bar. “Honestly, marriage is supposed to temper these urges,” he teasingly reminded them. “And don’t deny what you were doing. Just not in the garden, I hope,” he raised a single eyebrow in criticism, and Max groaned. “Discretion is a virtue, Inquisitor.” His smug smile indicated his personal satisfaction in the outcome of his plan.

“I don’t want to know what they were doing,” Asta’s brother turned away.

“Actually, we were going to convince you to leave early,” Asta smiled winningly at her dearest friend. “As for making love in a garden, it’s not like you can talk. Two words, Dorian, ‘Winter Palace’. How many times? I, at least, have never gone _quite_ that far in a public place. We‘ve always had a door, at the very least. Except for that time in the Deep Roads…” Dorian barked a laugh, even while he smirked at the reminder. “Oh, hush, Dorian.”

Max winced. “Seriously, Sis, I’d really rather not know…”

“Oh, grow up,” Asta giggled. “Bernie’s told me stories. It’s not like you’ve never…”

“Never will, if I have anything to say about it,” Cullen muttered, blushing at the memory. Asta just winked at him. “Maker’s Breath,” he sighed. “No, Asta. Just… no. There has to be a line we don‘t cross…”

Dorian recovered himself, even while amusement glimmered in his eyes, “As for leaving early, not a chance. Your gorgeous husband - and you can thank me later - is going to dance with you the rest of the night, until Petri and the rest of the Imperium,” he nodded at a far corner, almost imperceptibly, “gets the hint that you are completely unavailable, and what‘s more, _happy_.”

Asta sighed, “He’s a nice person,” she started to protest.

“And doesn’t deserve to have a broken heart,” Dorian agreed. “Too late, I’m afraid, and you, my dear Inquisitor, are our concern. Petri’s an adult. He’ll get over it, or he won’t.”

“Well, he’s coming with us to the Valarian Fields, and then to Marnas Pell,” Asta said firmly. “If he’ll still come along, after how all of you acted. As an artist, mage and colleague. So you three will have to get over this… obsession.”

“We’re obsessed?” Max raised both eyebrows. “ _We’re…_ obsessed. With _Petri_?”

“You are,” Asta folded her arms, and then Cullen tapped her shoulder and offered his hand and she unfolded, a sudden melting of icy Inquisitor into fond and loving wife. “Excuse me,” she smiled, “My husband wants to dance with me. Again.” She laughed and followed him out onto the floor. “And we have some talking to do.” She flashed Cullen a teasing warning of a look. “Might as well do it on the dance floor. Less likely to be overheard there.” Even Max smiled a little bit at the joy on her face as Cullen twirled her into the dance already in full swing.

“Best money I’ve ever spent, paying the dance master to teach that man,” Dorian chimed his glass with Max’s, the fine crystal chiming out in perfect tune with the orchestra. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Fuck yes,” Max laughed in agreement. “And thank the Maker or whoever else you like that he’ll finally stop crashing on my couch. Take my share out of my wages?” Dorian nodded quite cheerfully, “You know, I believe we saved my dear sister‘s marriage through the skillful confluence of dance and flowers. I think we deserve a celebration. Should we move onto the champagne after this glass?” The two men watched as Cullen snarled irritably at someone trying to cut in, the offender backing away slowly at the threat he offered.

“Mmm,” Dorian agreed. “Sounds perfect. This family has quite the wine cellar by reputation, but I don‘t think this is the best red they have. A trifle thin and far, far, too sweet.” He stared at it and then sniffed fondly, “Asta would love it. Shame she will be far too busy to have a glass.”

They both watched some more as Asta spun out, hair already falling down from her poorly fastened hair as her husband let her dance, with a beatific look on his face. Max had the last word, “Well, that’s just disgusting. Come on, Pavus. Champagne it is. We deserve it, and I think there's a Diamondback game in one of the other rooms. There‘s got to be something better to do with our time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened to Coldplays 'Sky Full of Stars' for this chapter.


	18. Like Making Big Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning is NSFW, but again, it was too hard to strip it out and make it its own chapter. Also, I realize that I didn't upgrade the fic rating to 'Explicit', so I'm doing that today. Just because I don't want to worry about treading that fuzzy line between Mature and Explicit.
> 
> Chapter Title from Ben Rector's 'Brand New'
> 
> 'I feel like a young John Cusack, like making big mistakes /  
> I feel like for the first time in a long time I am not afraid. /  
> I feel like a kid, never thought it'd feel like this.'

The ride back to Dorian’s house was short, but the stairs to their room were all too long, as they failed to say goodnight to both brother and friend, stumbling up the stairs towards their room far too enthusiastically.

Asta disappeared behind her screen to undress once Cullen had growled at the maid that she wouldn’t be needed, and pulled her laces free himself as soon as the door closed. “Cullen, didn’t you say something before about wanting to put me on a pedestal and look at me in this dress?” She draped it over the top of the screen.

“That’s what I said, love,” Cullen answered, wrestling their window back open and shrugging himself out of the too confining dress coat. “You looked like something out of the Golden City tonight. Too beautiful to be of this world.”

“All right then,” Asta flirted, and came out from behind her screen. “Then what does this want to make you do?”

Cullen turned with his success and his mouth went dry. His wife stood there in nothing but the golden net cloak, just stiff enough with the small golden wires woven through the net to stand out from her body. “It makes me…” she walked towards him slowly, hands at her sides, hips swinging, hair still in braids. “I want to kneel,” he managed to croak as he dropped to his knees, and pulled her up against him. “I repent,” he chuckled softly, forehead to her belly. “Have mercy on me, milady Inquisitor?”

“Always,” Asta promised, and he kissed her stomach gently, lightly with an open mouth, eager to taste her again, and then lifted her to carry her back to the bed. He dropped her and wrestled himself free of the rest of his clothes, eager to feel her skin against his. “But it’s my turn to beg, isn’t it?” She rolled herself over and knelt before him.

“No,” Cullen contradicted, pulling her up. “No more begging for forgiveness. Now, now is when we try to do better?” Asta nodded and let him hold her, kiss her and lay her back towards the bed.

“We can both do better.”

***

The couple slept in very late the next morning, twined about each other like vines, unable to let each other go lest their own mistakes divide them again. Asta woke first, blearily peering out the open window to the sun, and chuckling at how late it was.

“Cullen,” she whispered and he shifted.

“Not awake yet,” he murmured, and she smiled, realizing that he had woken to his own name, and not his former title. “Back to sleep, Asta.”

“It’s afternoon,” she bent down and kissed his Maker‘s apple, making him squirm away onto his side. So she kissed down his spine, unable to resist nipping at the line of his waist. He retaliated by rolling back, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her up against his front, and then turning to his stomach, effectively trapping her beneath him with a leg and an arm, all without opening his eyes.

“Go back to sleep,” he muttered again. “Sleep is good.”

Asta kissed his shoulder and then his arm, the only places she could reach. “Don’t you want to wake up?”

“Not if this a dream,” he cracked one eye finally, looking skeptical. “You were mad at me for weeks because I was an idiot. It could be a dream, you being here, touching me, waking me up this way. Wouldn‘t be the first time.”

“Not a dream,” Asta kissed his shoulder again and he let up enough for her to reach his lips. “Definitely not angry any longer.”

“Maybe I’ll think about waking up then,” Cullen laughed against her lips and started moving his mouth with more urgency, pushing her to her back, twining his fingers in her hand, finding her tongue with his own, and pressing against her pointedly.

“Again?” Asta laughed as he made his way down her neck. “Cullen, I’m officially impressed.”

“It’s you,” he murmured. “I’ll never have enough…” he found her mouth again and traced a hand down her side to her ass. “That should be obvious. All I have to do is remember you in that… cloak thing… wearing nothing else and…” he made an abrupt movement against her thigh, a potent demonstration. “We’re keeping that forever,” Cullen laughed suggestively, “Maybe you should put it back on right now.”

“We should eat!” she protested ineffectually and without any personal conviction.

“Not hungry,” Cullen crawled down her body to her breasts, and licked the tip of one. “Least not for food. Now, come sit on me.” He tried to roll over to his back. “I want to watch you.”

“Sit on you? You were saying such lovely things, about how you can‘t resist me, and yet you want me to do the work? After keeping me up all night?” Asta was already sitting up, though, shoddy protests forgotten.

“I’m still tired,” he argued. “You woke me up. You don’t have to move. In fact,” he finished rolling to his back and pulled on her arm. “Sit on my face,” he offered. “I’ll take care of you.” He winked.

Asta playfully rolled her eyes, but pulled herself up all the same, suspending herself over him on the pillow. “Like this?”

“Mmmhmm,” Cullen hummed into her. “Stay still.” He languidly brushed his tongue against her, and in a few minutes had her panting and bracing herself against the headboard. Another few minutes and she was clutching the side of his head with her thighs, and then burying her fingers in his hair and crying out, letting herself go yet again.

They forgot to eat lunch entirely, and at dinner, the comments were rife, even excepting Emily‘s presence.

“So you live,” Dorian raised his glass upon their entrance, openly staring at Cullen‘s lovebites with a twist of his moustache. “The servants are definitely impressed. I’ve been fielding noise complaints all morning with all the banging and noise.” Cullen blushed and looked smug in tandem, but Asta raised her glass in return as she took her seat, proudly.

Max made a face. “Glad to see you haven’t killed each other.”

“Oh, it was close,” Asta assured him with a smirk. “I thought I was dying quite a few times.” Max grimaced in disgust.

“I don’t want to know the details,” Dorian covered his ears facetiously. “Also, Emily…” he warned.

“I know what you’re talking about,” the teenager complained. “Dorian, when am I going to get to go to balls and stay up all night afterward? All of these dance lessons have to be leading up to something interesting, right?”

Dorian choked on his wine. “Not until you’re sixteen at the very least,” he finally managed. “You have to be able to defend yourself - without magic.” He looked at her critically. “Hmm, and I think we’d better prioritize your self-defense lessons with Dalish,” he frowned. “No one is going to take advantage of _my_ daughter.”

***

After dinner, Asta and Cullen retired again, hoping to catch up on sleep and avoid Dorian‘s pointed comments.

Asta froze while brushing out her hair, staring at the bottle that was sitting on her vanity table, waiting to be taken. She set the brush down as gently as if it were made of Gaatlok, and picked the bottle up with a finger and a thumb. _How long had it been?_ She counted backward in her head frantically.

“What’s wrong?” Cullen came out of the water closet, and saw her, pale under her freckles, holding the bottle with a shaking hand. “Did you…”

“I forgot to take it,” Asta sputtered, horrified into a full confession. “I think… no, I know… I was supposed to take it days ago, when I finished my cycle… six?! Or was it eight… Ten? I was so busy, finishing everything, it completely slipped my mind…” She started to breathe heavily. “Cullen… I‘m so sorry… I wasn‘t even thinking about… Oh, Andraste fucking the Maker in the _Fade_ … I…”

“You could be… pregnant,” Cullen sat down on the bed, his legs giving out, swallowing hard. “What do you want to do?”

“ _Want_ to do?” Asta stared at him blankly. “What _can_ I do? I have no idea what the other potion is even called. Dorian wouldn’t know… why would he? He’s no alchemist. A letter to Leliana would take weeks to get a reply… would Dalish know? But she’s not an alchemist either… even if she would admit to being a… We can’t trust a general apothecary here for fear of poison… Max has made that clear. I don‘t want to send _my brother_ out to find a birth control potion, even if the Jennies knew one we could trust! I don‘t know any of his contacts, do you?!” She was openly panicking now, lips trembling.

Cullen stood up, took her hand, and pulled her up from the chair at her vanity and back to the bed. “We could find out, if that’s what you wanted,” he held her hand tight, set her down next to him and pulled her close, stroking her back. “There’s always the library. But we don’t know… for sure,” Cullen reminded her. “You could not be.”

“Are you saying you want to wait and see if…”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably, “I wasn’t necessarily saying that…” he prevaricated, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Chicken,” Asta countered, relaxing into his arms, just a trifle, and somehow less scared than when she was sitting alone. “Scaredy-cat. Quivering mass of frightened Mabari. Just tell me what you‘re thinking, Cullen.”

“I am all of those things,” Cullen admitted bashfully. “We’re in Tevinter, Asta. Not the first place I’d choose to conceive a child. Your brother long since stopped counting the number of assassination attempts he‘s foiled. He doesn‘t even tell you about most of them anymore. And we‘ve just had the worst fight since we started seeing each other. This is as far from ideal…”

“It might be too late for ideal. Seems to me we have two choices,” Asta held up a single finger, still shaking, her logical nature warring with her sense of humor and practicality, “One, I take the potion, hoping that it will still cover an entire night and day of restless, hot, crazy lovemaking despite being over a week late taking it in the first place,” Cullen groaned at her silly language, and she flicked up another finger, “or two, I don’t take it at all and we… see what happens.”

Cullen hummed, still worried, but practical, “Well, as my mother would have said, there’s no point in shutting the fence after the druffalo has already gotten out. She said nearly exactly that to my father when she told him she was expecting Ros and he was telling her that they couldn‘t afford any more kids. They had this massive row, but were over it by morning. Da was as happy as anything when he told us kids at breakfast. That was how they were.”

Asta frowned, trying to make sense of the metaphor. “In this case are you the druffalo or am I? I don’t like being compared to a… I’m not as fit as I was while we going after Corypheus but…”

“I’m definitely the druffalo,” Cullen cut her off, shouldering the lion’s share of the blame. “I’m the one that gave in last night, if we had waited until we got back maybe you would have noticed and we could have taken… other precautions. You were… busy, and angry at me, and simply forgot. It could happen to anyone, and you‘ve never forgotten before. If I had had to remember to take a potion while we were planning the siege of Adamant, or before the Arbor Wilds, we’d probably already have a child,” He admitted with some chagrin. “That said, I’d say… don’t waste the potion. It‘s not like you have an unlimited supply with you.” Asta immediately shifted sideways to stare at him with a worried expression. “That’s my opinion, but it’s your choice,” he rushed to assure her. “Either way, I’m good.”

“If you’re okay with it,” Asta slowed her speech, “Then… I won’t take the potion.” She bit her lip. “At least for the month,” she qualified.

Cullen took a breath, his heart leaping, and his face stretching into his rare full smile. “All right,” he swallowed. “Is it okay to admit that I’m probably happier about this than I should be? Despite fucking Tevinter and nightmarish timing and… everything?”

“It is,” Asta breathed shakily. “I might be, too. It‘s…”

“A baby,” Cullen breathed the word out loud, finishing the sentence in a different way from the direction Asta was headed, and then narrowed his eyes. “We should make the most of the month,” he announced with a sudden determination.

“Whoa, Commander,” Asta pulled back in sudden alarm. “What does that mean?”

“I mean,” he leaned in towards her, following her body. “If you might be pregnant anyway, then why not give it a real go? Why not take the leap into the abyss? Have restless, hot, crazy sex nearly every night, when we can, anyway… and see what happens?”

“And quit again at the end of the month?” Asta bit her lip. It was starting to flush red with the repeated contact with her teeth and Cullen kissed her to stop the action.

He drew back only slightly, shifting his shoulders in his half shrug, “Well, if we must, or if you don’t want to keep having restless…”

Asta covered his mouth with her hand, resting her lips on the other side of it, laughing in chagrin, “Don’t say it again,” she warned. “Already I regret teasing you. But all right,” she smiled shyly. “We’ll give it a shot… at least until I find out one way or the other…”

Cullen laid her back against the sheets immediately, making her squeak a little in surprise. “Let’s start now, then.” And Asta burst out into laughter, sounding lighter than she had for months. “Or, let’s start last night, and continue tonight. I greatly approve your proactive decision making, Inquisitor.” Even people in the street below heard her laughter through the open window then, looking up at the house with approval at the happy tones. “Just the sort of decisiveness the Inquisition needs.”

“You realize,” she said while he undressed her, all too efficiently, “That we may have conceived a child in a spare bedroom of a random Magister’s house in what is arguably the most unholy country in Thedas? Me, the Herald of Andraste-that-was?! The Grand Clerics would be scandalized! I‘m sure at least some of them could do the math necessary to figure it out.” She thought again, “Maybe.”

“Tevinter should be so lucky,” Cullen said against the valley of her breasts, tilting his head up and smirking happily. “I hope we have.”

“Cullen?” Asta stared at him, again, shocked at his admission.

“You heard me,” he challenged her. “Just knowing it’s a possibility… I hope you are. We have. Whatever. I‘m so tired of waiting for what we want, dancing to the tune that other people are playing… Everyone is trying to _use_ you, and I‘m sick of it. I just want us to be able to be ourselves.  To do what we want, instead of what they tell us we have to do.”

Asta pulled him up one handed, and kissed him thoroughly, fisting her fingers in his hair, only stopping to breathe at last, with a smile as bright as any star, “I agree completely. With everything.” She stared deep into his eyes, “Lets start playing our own music, love.”

***

_To Inquisitor Asta Rutherford, in Minrathous, from Viscount Varric Tethras, in Kirkwall_

_Your Inquisitorialness,_

_I’ve got to admit, you’ve even got Cass flustered and blustering about your argument on this one. She’s checked your sources three times, and I had to wrest the manuscript out of her hands physically in order to deliver it to my publisher. Who, you’ll be delighted to hear, is now cursing your very name. Don’t worry, I’ve got enough stuff on them (cough… blackmail…) to get this published. It needs to get out there. Good job._

_If you see a good copy of the Verse of Silence to send Cass’s way, please do. She says Cumberland is including it in the Chant, but her personal copy of the Chant doesn’t include it. For obvious reasons._

_You’re going to shake a lot of people up. Good. It’s about fucking time._

_Hope Curly and you are having fun mixing with the worst Thedas has to offer. Better you than me. I’m going to hand the pen to Cass and let her say a few words, as she keeps telling me what to say._

_(the following is written in a different hand, cramped and slanted)_

_Asta, I admit, I was skeptical. But your work shows insight I wasn’t expecting. Obviously we made the right person the Inquisitor, since you know just how to ask all the right questions. Questions no one knew to ask. I’m horrified by your conclusions - how could she have been dedicated to DUMAT of all the gods available - but I know better after we have been through together to jump to conclusions. So while I disapprove, I’m holding to faith that we still don’t know the entire story._

_It was also incredibly well written, and I especially loved the section where you pointed out that Maferath may not have betrayed her without her knowledge. Her words before the betrayal are suggestive, are they not? You painted her sacrifice as unusually romantic for the subject. Perhaps she did know what was going to happen, all along? Tragic, if so, but also inspiring, at least to those of us who have spent our lives in service to her._

_Of course, I know how you feel about martyrdom, so I will end here. Congratulations, you have written a brilliant book. I hope Varric’s editor is kinder than he indicates. Let me know if you need me to defend you to the Most Holy. Oh, and tell Max that Bernadette is trying to become a Seeker, and does not need the distraction of the letters he keeps sending her. That said, I think they are beautiful, and that he should definitely keep writing them to her._

_(Varric’s handwriting resumes)_

_It’s me again. Just wanted you to know that a couple of funny pictures have been popping up all over the Free Marches, one right here in our Alienage. And elves are disappearing. May we assume that it’s our chuckling friend? The murals are him all over. (See what I did there?) Be careful up there, Asta. If he’s behind this mess, you might want to think about getting out before there’s a full uprising. You don’t want to end up a martyr after all we did to prevent it, right?_

_Hang in there, and here’s hoping the elfy elf shows his hand soon._

_I’ll write again soon,_

_Varric Tethras,_

_Close personal friend of Asta Rutherford, Inquisitor and author of ‘Blood in my Mouth: Andraste’s Origin and Sacrifice’. Definitely a better job than Viscount._

_P.S. I came up with the title myself - what do you think? V.T._

_***_

_Dear Varric,_

_For once you came up with the perfect title - it’s amazing. Let your editor and publisher know that’s what I want to go with. I had nothing. You are so right - Titles are the worst part._

_We’re aware of the situation with Chuckles, and I assure you, if I could stop the murals I would. Max and Cullen are far too stressed out about my safety as it is. I’m attracting far too much attention whenever I leave the house. It’s just a matter of time before we have to leave, either Minrathous or the Imperium as a whole. I hope I get to finish my other research first. There just isn’t enough information._

_I hope you don’t have to blackmail too many people, but it’s important this get out there, so… I know you won’t go too far. Don’t kill anyone? No doubt it will be the most banned book in Chantry history, but again… it’s important. All these ages of both veneration and vilification… it’s time for the whole truth. Once people have that they can decide whether to worship her or not._

_Please write more often, Cullen especially is incredibly homesick. Even hearing from Kirkwall is better than nothing at all, since Mia’s letters inevitably make him crabby, Josie’s make him scowl, as full of nobility and reminders to mind our manners as they are, and Loranil’s are full of business and hardly any real news. Cole’s give us plenty of joy, though. It’s so nice to see the world through his eyes. Even Val Royeaux seems magical._

_I am tired of Tevinter too, but so is Dorian. Don’t tell him I told you, but he’s going grey. It looks distinguished, but I imagine he’ll start dying it before too long. I suspect I’m the reason, honestly. I would be dead at least a dozen times over without his and Max’s efforts. I am lucky in my family._

_Dorian’s heir, Emily, has recently completed reading ‘Tale of the Champion’ and has a few questions for you. Would you mind answering them? I’m sure you’ve heard them all a million times before, but her tutor believes she needs to spend more time writing. I suspect if her interest was struck by her correspondent she would be more willing._

_Tell Cassandra that the library in Minrathous has the largest romance section that I’ve ever seen anywhere, and I’m doing my best to find copies of my favorites to send her, so that she can keep herself occupied until Squirt is born. Let me know if she needs anything else? Did she like the tea Dorian sent?_

_Cullen says ‘Hello,’ and wonders how the construction at the Gallows (have you managed to rename it yet? I wonder whether or not it would make a difference - people do seem to cling to the original names of things, after all…) is going, and asks that you have Cassandra write him a real letter that tells him how much Rylen is struggling in his position. Rylen, much like someone else I know, is apparently too busy to write an old friend regularly._

_We miss you all desperately. I’m including our present for Squirt. I hope Cassandra likes it. It’s hard to know what you still need, so I’m sending you something I think she’ll like instead._

_Love,_

_Asta_

_(The letter is enclosed in a massive package filled to the brim with storybooks from all over Thedas.)_

***

Asta’s cycle ended, and she was in misery for a full day at the beginning, before Cullen could get her to do more than moan, curled up against him. “Well, that’s that,” she sighed, more disappointed than she wanted to admit. “I take the potion on the first day after this nightmare ends.”

Cullen rubbed her back idly. “Or… you don’t,” he nearly whispered, lost in thought. “I mean, if that’s what you want,” he backpedaled.

Asta swallowed, “Cullen, it would be irresponsible and…”

“And we said we were going to quit dancing to other people music,” Cullen reminded her. “Yes, your life is in danger. When isn’t it? I will protect you, and so will Dorian and your brother. We won‘t be in Minrathous for much longer. And there‘s always the chance that if Solas hears that you are… in a delicate condition… he will back off… he was your friend once, Asta.”

Asta smiled briefly, but it faded before he could see it. “You have more faith in Fen’Harel than I do,” she teased sadly. “I don’t think for a moment that me having a child would change his opinion about what I should do with what power remains to me.”

Cullen shrugged, “You don’t know that. If you’re right about him being Shartan, and that he was Andraste’s lover… and the father of her daughters, then… he must have been a proud father once, willing to do whatever it took to keep them safe.”

“That was a very long time ago,” Asta grieved. “He’s hardly the same person, I’m sure. How could he be, after all this time? His children are dead and gone, his love sacrificed by her ex-husband… whether she knew it was going to happen or not, it still must have hurt to lose her.” Cullen snorted. “Still skeptical?”

“Slightly,” Cullen admitted, knowing she wouldn’t judge him for his doubt. “It just seems so… far-fetched. Solas as a dedicated lover? I don’t even want to think about him in the throes of passion…” Asta laughed outright at his shudder.

“It does seem strange,” she flipped over to face him, “but even Solas was young, once upon a time. Perhaps he was hot-blooded and wild,” she teased. “Impulsive and…” Cullen cupped her head and pulled her down to him for a kiss. “Mmm,” she pulled back, “None of that, Ser Knight…”

“Enough about Solas,” Cullen reminded her, a little breathlessly, “We were talking about…”

Asta sighed, “Us. Yes. Cullen, it’s not the best time. You have to see that.”

“It will never be the best time,” Cullen closed his eyes and leaned against her forehead. “I want you see you carrying our child, Asta, but it’s your body. If you say no, then I‘ll drop it until you bring it up again.”

Asta bit her lip. “Give me a week to think about it,” she answered at last.

It was his turn to sigh. “As long as you need.  Of course.”

***

Four days later Cullen came back to their room to see Asta waiting for him in the golden cloak, bottle of potion in her hand, and a wicked, calculating look on her face. “Ser Knight,” she greeted him.

“Mistress Rutherford,” a smile started to play around the corner of his lips, tilting up one side and then the other as he ogled her openly. “You look lovely this evening. May I ask the occasion?”

Asta held the potion with two fingers out the open window. “Thoughts?” She asked him, one eyebrow arched in challenge. “Feel like making a bad decision?”

“Give that here,” Cullen nodded at the potion, and she brought it back inside and pressed it into his hand. He tilted it backwards and forwards, watching the liquid shift inside, and then, backed up and chucked it out the window as if he was skipping a rock over his childhood pond, watching it hit the building opposite them, shattering in a sudden burst of liquid. He turned back away to face her, smiling wide. “Decisive enough?”

“Definitely,” Asta purred. He came back to her side, pulling her up against him. “You know I love it when you make command decisions.”

“This one was yours,” Cullen murmured softly, and lifted her up to kiss her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I am evil. I went out of my way to think of the worst time for them to decide they wanted this. You'll see what I mean in the next few chapters. :D


	19. The Neon God They Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And the people bowed and prayed  
> To the neon god they made."
> 
> -from the Sound of Silence (Simon and Garfunkel)

The tunnels to the Proving Grounds where they departed from the stairs that led up the exterior of the building were thick overhanging vines of wisteria, brushing the top of Cullen’s head. “Maker‘s Breath, I can barely breathe,” he muttered. “Remind me never to plant wisteria, wherever we end up. That’s just… cloying.” He regretted even bringing her here, despite her desire to see the plants in full bloom.

“For once I agree with you entirely,” Dorian wiped his eyes, dabbing at them with a bent knuckle to avoid smearing his kohl. “I think I’m allergic. And me without my handkerchief. Fasta Vass.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Asta pouted at both of them. “But I’ve been reading about this next part,” she stepped through the end of the tunnel and gasped. “Cullen, look…” vines fell over the edges of the box seats of the Proving Grounds, festoons of flowers cascading over each other in massive, complicated tangles, a fountain of green and every other color existing in nature, twisting together so that the individual plants could never be separated from each other. “To think that such beauty could be found even in Minrathous… amid all this stench and decay… and I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she managed in awe, hanging over the edge far further than was safe, and picking a blossom. “Have you ever seen anything that just… takes your breath away?” She stared out, entranced, identifying blooms and vines with an educated eye, face shining with the beauty before her.

“I have,” a familiar voice came from behind them and Asta dropped her flower, startled. “Forgive me,” Petri winced. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Hmm,” Cullen stepped up and took her arm. “Archivist Petrinius.”

“Ser Rutherford,” he bowed, and then offered another bloom to Asta. “Since you lost yours,” he smiled, apologetically, but his forehead remained tense. “You know, I understand that certain flowers have meanings. This is an oleander, do you happen to know what that represents?” His eyes searched both Cullen and hers for a sign that they understood.

“Caution,” Cullen answered for Asta. “It stands for caution.”

“A warning then,” Petri bowed again, worried and relieved. “I would advise you all to come back another day,” he said more quietly. “Inquisitor, you are in danger.”

“Then it is time for us to leave,” Asta sighed and looked behind her wistfully. “What a shame. I wanted to explore it more thoroughly. It‘s unlike anything I‘ve ever seen.”

“It is indeed,” Petri whispered. “I will… see you soon? Tomorrow, at the library, perhaps?” He turned to Dorian, even more urgently. “Come well-armed, and bring Emily,” he instructed Dorian. “Keep her with you. Keep her safe. I shouldn’t have to warn you. Now, go, quickly.” He marched off, with another stiff bow.

“What is all that about?” Cullen was stiff-lipped as they marched, nearly running, to the exits, back through the tunnel that led to the stairs on the exterior of the building. “Was he flirting with you _again_ or threatening all of us?”

“Warning us,” Asta stared at the white flower in her hand. “Something tells me that tomorrow will likely be illuminating.” She dropped the flower on the ground, and ratcheted back her crossbow, in order to be prepared. “Let’s get out of here.” Cullen took point, and Dane flanked her while Dorian cast a proactive barrier. “Keep up the barriers, Dorian?”

“You don’t have to tell me every time,” Dorian argued. “By now, it’s second nature. You get into too much trouble for it to be otherwise.”

***

Asta’s dreams that night were disturbed. She dreamt of her thigh-deep struggle through drifts in the Frostbacks after Haven, hearing wolves howling and searching through the blowing snow for a sign that she was going the right way. The wolves… were they getting closer? In her dream, they were, and she was driven onward by both the knowledge that she was being hunted and her own desire not to freeze to death.

The same old dream, but this time, when she bolted awake, having failed to reach the Inquisition’s camp before collapsing into the snow, she understood. She tossed her legs out of the bed and walked over to her desk to make the list of books she needed, scribbling far less neatly than normal while writing it down from memory, including everything, even if she didn’t understand what use Fen’Harel might have for such texts. She threw her Tevinter style armor on in favor of safety over fashion, and roused Cullen to help her fasten the belt while she strapped Fact onto her arm, as grim and determined as she hadn’t been for some time.

Apparently, she needed a threat to help focus her mind and energies. She should have realized that before.

They met at the library earlier than normal, Max recommending that they change their schedule to accommodate the possible threat, to throw off anyone that might be watching their movements.  Cullen backed Petri up against a bookshelf as soon as he saw him, his blade against his throat. “Explain,” he snarled.

“Your wife is being targeted,” Petri said calmly. “I heard of it, yesterday, and went to the house to warn you, only to discover you had already left to see the Proving Grounds. I immediately followed.” He hesitated. “I apologize,” seeing the anger and remnants of pain in Cullen’s eyes. “I have tried, but… some things are out of even a mage’s control,” he looked ashamed at the admission. “I saved her life,” he urged Cullen. “Please, remember that, before you kill me.” He lifted his chin a little higher, offering the clear line of his throat.

“You aren’t going to attack me?” Cullen shoved a little closer, almost wishing he would give him an excuse. Dorian tsked disapprovingly.

“I will not,” Petri lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not much of a fighter. I can, yes, but I prefer erudition. Why do you think I’m a librarian? I have no interest in using my gifts in anything except self-defense.”

“Cullen,” Asta chided, “Don’t get blood on the books, please. This is the section about the land of Amaranth. Someone will need them someday.” She flashed him a warning look, and Cullen grunted, recognizing that she was telling him to back down, and eased his blade away, even while keeping the man confined against the shelves with his forearm.

Max chuckled, “Let him down, Cullen. He’s no threat to you, and probably not to Asta, as long as he doesn’t let the baser side of his nature get the best of him.” Cullen relaxed, and let Petri slump slightly in embarrassment. “We’ve been working together for months, and he’s been more of a gentleman than I am.”

“Yes, well, I’d like to think that my baser nature won’t get the better of me. By Dumat’s Scales, this is humiliating,” he couldn’t look at Asta, “and hardly how I would have chosen to portray myself,” he smiled and met her eyes at last, ruefully, tugging down the jacket of his robes. “As I said, I heard talk in the stacks yesterday. You know you’re being watched, you’ve had me watched, you are all doing very well for a group of soporati surrounded by spooky Tevinter mages, thanks to Pavus and your praesumptor brother, but when I realized you likely didn’t know this… you wouldn’t have been watching for… I… felt compelled to warn you. I wouldn‘t have suspected this group, that is certain. There is a possible link with the attack from… the night of the party.” He spoke haltingly, and with caution, as he led them towards the reading rooms swiftly, as Max and Dane prowled the stacks for possible eavesdroppers.

“What are the details?” Max closed the door to Asta’s reading room, and bid the man sit, as Dorian cast a spell of silence over the door. “You’ve earned our trust,” he said bluntly, “Whatever your personal feelings might be.”

“I would say because of those personal feelings,” Petri looked even more sad, and Emily wiggled in excitement.

“I knew it,” she whispered.

“We all did, except for Asta,” Dorian rolled his eyes at his daughter. “She does tend to be oblivious. Go on, Petri.”

“They intend to target the Inquisitor directly,” Petri said softly, meeting all their eyes in turn, urgent and honest. “Despite her low profile on the political scale, while she has been here, at least, a few magisters and higher born Laetans feel threatened by her presence, and are going to ‘surprise‘ her with an introduction to the Archon. The blame for the missing elves and other slaves - including the kennelmaster - is being laid at her door by more and more people.” He hesitated, and then continued, “Some of the people involved are Lucerni, Dorian. You need to know that.” Asta cast a glance at her brother and Cullen, eyes narrowed and suspicious at the reference to Cullen’s friend.

“Cullen,” she started suspiciously, “What _exactly_ happened to Kennelmaster Hermes?” but Dorian interrupted before he could answer.

“Yes, well, I knew we had moles,” Dorian humphed. “There are always spies. Give me the names, and I’ll match them up with the ones I knew about.”

“Failing to reach you at the audience, they are going to attack as you leave Minrathous. There has been much talk about your… frequent visits beyond the Imperium’s reach and who you meet there.” Petri said softly, handing Dorian a list of names from inside his jacket, as organized and prepared as always. “Those are ciphered, Dorian, and I’ll give you the solution before we leave here.”

Dorian’s eyes grew hard. “There will always be talk, but I do not discuss it,” he said harshly, even while slipping the small sheet of parchment into the inner lining of his robes.

“I’m not asking,” Petri replied, sighing. “I’m telling you. Your… friend may have an assassin on his trail as well. The Inquisitor is not their only objective.”

Dorian‘s brow wrinkled, far more unattractively than he usually allowed. “They know…”

“They know everything,” Petri hissed urgently. “It doesn’t matter how. I am sorry,” he genuinely looked regretful.

Dorian closed his eyes, tired, and Emily picked up his hand to hold it. “So we need to leave Minrathous?” His voice was still steady, if resigned.

“I would advise catching them in the act first,” Petri smiled ruefully. “The audience with the Archon is the most likely time. If you leave now, you risk making Radonis angry. If you go after allowing _him_ to catch the assassins in the act, then I‘d say you could make a leisurely departure, especially if you fuel the gossips with news that you‘re intending to travel. It‘s a risk either way, but if you leave now, you _will_ be followed. If you leave later, as planned, there‘s a possibility that you might not be… if this doesn‘t go all the way to the Archon.”

“And when should we be prepared to be ‘surprised‘?”

“You should receive the invitation today or tomorrow, based on what I heard,” Petri stood up. “I will assist however I can,” he offered formally. “I understand completely, of course, if you feel you cannot trust me to keep the Inquisitor safe.” He paused, and then reluctantly continued, “I feel I should explain one more thing, a personal matter, to Serah Trevelyan and the Inquisitor. One of the ways I combat demons is by keeping a journal,” he looked at his feet and then back up at Max. “I set wards, to warn me, not to attack, similar to what I set at the library, and you keep tripping them,” he admitted. “I’ve known you were watching me all along. You’re one of the best praesumptors I’ve ever heard of,” he confessed, in a tone of deep respect, “Short of… full disclosure, I couldn’t think of a way to explain without it coming out wrong.” He faced Asta. “I meant no disrespect towards your person, Inquisitor, and I apologize. Putting all the thoughts onto paper and out of my head is cathartic, and they trouble me far less, this way. I‘ve been having difficulties of that kind, for a little while, and again, I am not violent when I do not need to be. I do keep attempting to reason my way out of my difficulties instead of bashing my demons with a stick, or freezing them solid. Many consider it to be a personal failing,” he managed to joke, “my brothers among them.”

“I am flattered,” Asta said truthfully, with some surprise. “I thought it was an intellectual attraction. I am hardly the most…”

“It is both,” he flashed an alluring look at her. “I have never met another woman like you, and never will again, Inquisitor.” Emily sighed happily in the background, and Dorian humphed in amusement at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “I only regret that I didn't meet you earlier.” He grinned a little sheepishly, “Preferably _before_ you met your husband.” Cullen bit back his growl, and turned it into a cough, rather unconvincingly.

Asta laughed, amused at Cullen‘s attempt to stifle his jealousy, and touched her husband's arm lightly. “You would have been out of luck, I’m afraid. Chantry sisters and brothers were required to take vows of celibacy in the South, until quite recently. Divine Victoria just announced the change two years ago, and I have only been excommunicated for four.”

“What a waste,” Petri flirted openly. “Your Chantry leaves much to be desired.”

“You have no idea,” Cullen grunted, feeling he had been more than patient. “We should get you back to the house, Asta.”

Asta frowned at him, “Why? We’re here, and I’m on the verge of a breakthrough about Fen’Harel.” She turned to the table, and began to rummage through her satchel, finding the list she had scrawled that morning with an air of triumph, and handing it to him regally. “I’m going to need everything you see on that list, Petri. Everything, no matter how esoteric or strange. In addition, that copy of the Verse of Silence you have, and perhaps Exaltations as well, and I think you should sit down with me, as it has something to do with that shrine outside Marnas Pell.” She smiled a little shyly, “I would like to pick your brain about a few things that have been bothering me.”

Petri scanned the list, his eyebrows raising in respect, “The Elvehan Diis Falsis? The untranslated version?”

“I may need to find some help with that one,” Asta admitted sheepishly. “Perhaps a lexicon, as well?”

Petri read the note again, and Dorian moved to peer over his shoulder. “Asta, my dear,” Dorian started, “Whatever do you need The Hedge Mage by Heron for? Or An Enchanter’s Observations? I can understand the works by Genitivi and Petrine - they are always valuable, even if the El’illian Excavation, once translated, is a little lacking and _not_ one of Genitivi's best works - and don‘t you dare tell him I said so - but…  The Unholy Grace? What direction are you trying to take, here?”

Cullen frowned and peered at the short page himself, “On Lyrium: A Templar’s Memoir by Ser Treus? Asta?”

Asta grinned, confidently, “I realized this morning that I’ve been going about this all wrong. Don’t you see, Dorian? You were there, working right above Solas for all those months. What is the one thing all of these books have in common?”

Dorian chuckled, amused, “Solas kept them all on his desk. He referred to them, often. What are you thinking, Amica?”

Asta broke into a wide smile, “I’m hunting like a wolf. The Dread Wolf, as a matter of fact. Forget Marnas Pell, and traveling to the Valarian Fields, and working backwards through the Chant to figure out what is truth and what is legend - we need to know what he’s up to, and the best way to get into his head is…”

“By reading what he’s been reading,” Petri laughed.

Asta smiled even wider in triumph, and added, “And if we can get into his head, maybe we can direct our prey in the direction we want him to go in, instead of him herding us like halla.  We‘re going to hunt the hunter.”

Petri scanned the list again and nodded. “Everything except for the Elvehan is in the normal collection. I’ll even make an exception, and pull that scroll for you, and fill out the paperwork later.” Asta looked mildly impressed. “Eh, what’s the use of power if you don’t get to abuse it occasionally,” he shrugged. “Just don’t take it out of the library?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Asta managed to look convincingly horrified, and Cullen snorted. “Oh, shut it, love,” her mask cracked, and she blushed. “I’ll treat it with the respect it deserves, Petri. I swear.”

***

“There‘s what I wanted to discuss with you,” she said triumphantly an hour later, when Max had left to get lunch, Dorian was wandering idly amongst the stacks, Cullen had taken Dane out for air, and Emily was flipping eagerly through an Antivan novel with rather red cheeks. “This is it: Corypheus claimed that the throne of the Maker was empty when he arrived. ’I have seen the throne and it is empty,’ he said, and that is a direct quote. As if the Maker was already absent. I‘ve talked with Revered Mothers and Sisters about this, and they have no more insight than I do.” She slapped the table in excitement. “But even the oldest version of Silence you have claims…”

“That the Maker was there, and addressed the magisters directly,” Petri smiled. “That is definitive. If you believe that the Chant is truth, anyway,” he sat back and crossed his arms. “The question, Inquisitor, is whether or not you believe the Chant is true. Your experiences have shown that the Dissonant Verse of Silence, at least, is partial truth - but both sides of the Chantry have been fighting for years to keep that verse out of the canon. And you are a heretic. Everyone says so, except for Tethras, who, as I have to point out nearly daily to the ignorant rabble that comes into my library, isn‘t reliable as a historical source. You _aren’t_ Andrastian.”

“I am not,” Asta grinned agreeably, “But I have a theory that Fen’Harel _is_ the Maker, Archivist Petrinius, and now that my research regarding Andraste is done, and the manuscript safely in a friend’s hands… I need to figure this out. The Elvhen texts all indicate that Fen’Harel was something other, and something _both_ the Evanuris and Forgotten Ones recognized as their own. What would that have been?” She asked him honestly, wondering if he would draw the same conclusion.

“He was both…” Petri muttered. “He was…” his eyes flashed, and he reached across the table and gripped her hand, and then, with a grimace and an apology, let it go. “’And the Maker’s first children were the spirits‘,” he quoted.

“’Who turned to envy, and then declared themselves the gods of the Children of the Earth‘, or…” Asta prompted.

“Of the Stone,” Petri slumped forward and grabbed at his hair. “It’s all in the translation. You are brilliant,” he told her hoarsely. “The Forgotten Ones are demons. Locked away by Fen'Harel, but why? But the Stone… what does that mean for the Dwarves… their entire culture is built around Paragons and the Stone... were they worshipping demons?  Was 'Envy' in the verse a demon?”

“I think so, and I don't know.  I'm certainly not going to be the one to march into Orzamaar and tell them how wrong they are.  I've met a Shaper, and she might have been a rebel, but..." Asta shivered, "She also had powers that I still don't understand.  But if we take a small leap of logic, Fen’Harel is at least part spirit, perhaps even an abomination, for lack of a better word,” she made a face, still wishing for a better word to describe that situation. “And lyrium is pumped through a Titan - which according to my Shaper acquaintance was the source of the Stone.  So lyrium is something like a blood.  I'm not sure of the connection between Titans and the Forgotten Ones.” She shuddered in memory.  "If Imshael was any indication, I sincerely hope that the Titans are not the Forgotten Ones."  She frowned, "I wonder if the Forgotten Ones have anything to do with red lyrium... that idol that Varric and Hawke found in the Deep Roads... was that an idol to the Forgotten Ones?"  Her words trailed off with her train of thought.

“It’s all blood magic,” Petri was stuck on her previous comment and unaware of her more recent musings, shook his head, nauseated. “It’s all blood magic. That’s…”

Asta coughed, “Yes, well, Fen’Harel told me that blood magic is just a type of magic like any other, in circumstances when the person is either offering their blood willingly or using their own. Perhaps the very act of personal, willing sacrifice makes a difference in the results? If that is the case, the Chantry’s extreme vilification might be premature. Though I imagine I can hardly accept him as an unbiased source at this point.” Petri cleared his throat as if the thought of taking an Elvhen god at anything other than face value was ill advised. “Well, if anyone is going to protest that handing off his orb to the worst magister Thedas has seen in ten ages was a _good_ idea, it’s going to be him,” Asta pointed out irritably. “He hasn’t made the best choices, whether he’s the Maker or not.” Petri immediately laughed, a tenor bell-tone that surprised Emily out of her novel for just a moment before she dove back in just as eagerly.

“So you’ve met an Avvar god, the last priest of Dumat, a Forgotten One, and two Elvhen gods, one of whom may or may not be the Maker,” Petri sat back in his chair in wonder, crossing his arms as if to hold himself back. “If you weren’t married I’d kiss you, just to say I’d done it.” Emily’s eyes raised above her book for just a moment, and she met Asta’s critical eyes for just a moment before she blushed and started to read again.

“Well, I am married,” Asta laughed at him in discouragement, one eyebrow quirked upwards. “But that’s an interesting way of looking at my accomplishments. I need to add an archdemon to the mix so that I can round out the quartet to a quintet,” she mused. “Only a priest of Dumat, after all, and the sad dragon he tried to turn into an archdemon. Dumat himself has been gone for ages.” She shrugged the actual old god away with a gesture.  “I just can’t help but think that somehow what happened to the priests of the old gods, the old gods themselves, and the Forgotten Ones are all connected.”

“That, or meet the reincarnation of Andraste.”

“Too late,” Asta sighed, truly regretful. “I think she became a dragon after Hessarian killed her, and that the Hero of Ferelden killed her during the Fifth Blight in the mountains beyond the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Now that Haven and the Temple have been destroyed, I’ll never know for sure. Damn Corypheus for making us lose all those ages of knowledge all over again.” She looked around her, flipping books up in a renewal of focus. “Now, where was that list of the Magisters again? I want to ask you questions about the rest of them, before I tackle Solas‘ reading list. About this ‘Forgewright‘… do you think it‘s a possibility that they could be referring to a Paragon? Tevinter has always had ties with the dwarven kingdoms that the rest of Thedas doesn‘t share. And while I was studying Ameridan in the Frostbacks, their Augur referred to the Watchman‘s bonfires… do you think that is a hint to his identity?” And their discussion trailed into something completely different.

***

Much later that night, Asta was still poring over the text of the Elvehan. “It’s all about the false gods of the Elvhenan,” she sighed, staring at the page she had painstakingly translated over several hours. “The false gods. There is a clue there. Dorian, Petri, what’s the historical context of this work? Was it written while the Imperium was still worshipping the old gods or after Andraste‘s march?” She finally lifted her head, and realized that six pairs of eyes were staring at her, every one exhausted and dull, including the dog‘s.

“Asta,” Cullen started, realizing that they finally had her full attention, “We’re exhausted. It’s past midnight. We need to sleep.”

“No,” Asta refused stubbornly. “I’m so _close_ , love. I can taste it. I can’t leave now…”

Dorian sighed, “Amica, you aren’t going to solve Fen’Harel’s secrets in a single day. You know that. Let’s go back to the house, have a glass of wine, let our brains rest… Emily is nearly falling asleep on her feet.” The young girl in question was certainly pale and drowsy looking in her chair, the Antivan novel long since finished.

“Dorian, I expected you to understand!” Asta hardened her heart and turned to Petri, “Petri, surely you recognize…”

But even the archivist had had enough, “Inquisitor, I have been here since before dawn. I will answer any questions you wish, but you will have to wait until tomorrow. I need sleep. I would likely mistranslate anything you put in front of me right now.”

“Right,” Cullen nodded, exchanging a relieved look with Max. “Asta…”

“I can’t _leave_ ,” Asta whined. “Not now… assassins are after me! Petri, can’t I sleep here… I promise, I won’t…”

“No,” Petri looked shocked. “I can’t allow you to… that’s out of the question. The library is not an _inn_ , even for the Inquisitor!”

“Hmph,” Asta looked calculating, “I bet you’ve slept here.” Petri’s blush confirmed her suspicion.

“Yes, but I work here,” Petri countered, face still red, and faced Cullen with an air of authority that Asta had never seen him use before. “Ser Rutherford, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask your wife’s party to leave the library so I can finish closing up.”

Cullen smirked, and went to pick Asta up out of her chair. “Come on, Inquisitor,” he grinned. “The nice librarian says you have to leave.” Asta pouted at him, and at Petri, resisting. “None of that,” he ordered. “The rest of the library has been closed for hours. You’ve bent the rules enough, Asta.”

“Then can I take…”

“No,” Petri firmed his mouth. “I told you that it has to stay here. That scroll is ancient, and normally it would take weeks to get permission to look at it for a few minutes. It can never leave the library.”

“Asta, you’ve overstayed your welcome,” Max tried and Asta flipped him off, too tired, even if she didn‘t want to admit it, to be polite.

Cullen hefted her out of her chair at last, pulling her gently and unwillingly in his wake. “But Cullen, what if I don’t get to come back?” she whimpered, trying to get his sympathy. “I could be dead tomorrow!”

“Then I guess we‘ll never know if he‘s actually going to tear down the Veil,” Cullen sighed. “Asta, we’ll be back. After sleep, and food, and a little exercise. You’re getting entirely too pale, staying inside all day.” Asta continued to drag her feet. “Don’t make me carry you out of here,” he warned, and Asta gave him a calculating look, vaguely tempted, and finally gave in.

“Fine, let’s go.” She turned and locked the door, and watched both mages ward it. “I’m coming back tomorrow,” she warned all of them.

“Naturally,” Cullen sighed. “Just sleep first.”

***

Solas faced the agent before him with a small smile for the first time since he had painted the mural at the kennel. “She’s reading these books?”

“Yes, Ser,” the spy nodded at the list. “We took the list right out of the Head Archivist’s office. He pulled all of them for her earlier today, and from what we can tell, are locked up in her reading room.” She shuffled awkwardly, “We can’t get in there. Fereldan locks and double wards. Whatever’s she’s working on must be sensitive.”

“Excellent,” Solas was crisp and professional, and much encouraged. “Keep me informed.” The scout left, and Solas rubbed his chin, looking at his own cluttered worktable, shifting his own - stolen - copy of the Elvehan Diis Falsis slightly with his knee. “Much better, Inquisitor,” he murmured. “Perhaps you’ll even manage to figure out my plans now that you aren’t preoccupied with my past.” He chuckled slightly, and continued, musingly, “As Cole would say, this is where things can change.” The name of his friend gave him a pang, and he sighed, wishing he hadn’t had to make the spirit forget.

He wondered what that said about his abilitiy to make friends, that he had lost Wisdom, made Compassion forget him, and nearly every night visited Hope in the Fade, feeding upon the spirits' encouragement. He sighed, feeling nearly defeated, but went about his work, all the same.

It was important work, after all. He couldn’t afford the distraction that these thoughts caused.

Even if it left him ultimately alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I haven't made up anything for this chapter - it's all in the Chant, or in the Elvhenan works you pick up in the Crossroads. I have drawn conclusions, obviously, but it seems to me that Fen'Harel has a modus operandi. He specializes in locking groups of gods away when they get too big for their britches.
> 
> And the corruption of the Titans, and its connection to the Blight... my theories on that will come out eventually. :D
> 
> And I find it fascinating that the Chant makes out that feeding off of hope is a bad thing. Hope by its very nature is something meant to encourage, to feed. If Fen'Harel draws strength from it - that isn't necessarily a bad thing!
> 
> And I'm not a Solas apologist. Really. I have a whole playthrough with him that left me furious. But he's one complex guy.


	20. What Am I Doing Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Alessia Cara's 'Here'.

_Dear Josie,_

_If I were to tell you that I had been invited to meet the Archon, what would you say?_

_Please don’t be angry. It wasn’t my idea. I’ve been_ mostly _neutral while here, I swear! There’s been a few Lucerni meetings, of course, and the usual round of parties, and a few connections have been made. Josie, it’s very hard to visit the Imperium and not get involved in politics, you know. But I swear, I tried. I’ve been a regular social butterfly while I’ve been here, charming, amusing, and have limited my speeches on how I will take over the world one country at a time to a minimum. Likewise the ones about the superiority of Southern Thedas._

_I’m kidding, Josie. Take a deep breath.  Well, not about the invitation, but the subject of my small talk, at least._

_And Dorian is still insisting that there’s no way that the Inquisition would ever win over the Archon, or the Imperium, and that the Magisterium never agrees on anything except disagreeing, and rarely that. This was completely unexpected._

_So advise me, my scariest advisor: What should I do? If you tell me to run, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you say, including stripping naked and painting myself like an Avvar. I’m yours to mold into someone that the Archon won’t decide needs assassination._

_He owes us a few favors, right? Surely he won’t kill the head of the group that negotiated his truce with Nevarra? Or took care of the Venatori before they became a major threat to his rule?_

_Help?_

_Love,_

_Asta_

***

_Dear Inquisitor_ ,

_What do you_ mean _you have an audience with Radonis? I don’t have many contacts in the Imperium - though Dorian’s lists of Lucerni have helped with that tremendously - but Asta, you realize that this is a trap, correct? And yet you have no choice but to go._

_As for advice… Have you learned nothing from your time with the Inquisition? NOTHING? All I can recommend is promise nothing. Reveal nothing. Speak peace with your lips and carry what weapons you are allowed. Some of the things coming out of the Imperium lately are… disturbing. All these disappearances trouble me. Loranil is fielding the complaints for now, but the pressure is increasing, and he’s starting to look worn. His former Dalish tribe has completely vanished._

_Asta, my friend, I hope you know what you are doing. Be safe. Walk softly. Look - and behave -impeccably. And above all, go armed. Even I wouldn’t recommend walking into the Archon’s presence with nothing but your charming self to protect you._

_No favors he owes us, no perceived status will be of any use, given your status as a guest in his country._

_My prayers will be with you._

_Sincerely,_

_Josie_

***

“So we’re doing this,” Asta winced, as she finished Josie’s letter. “Josie wasn’t even this nervous at the Winter Palace. Either time, and for a while during the Exalted Council I thought she was going to kill me and make it look like an accident. Look, she actually signed herself ‘Josie’ rather than ‘Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition’. She’s never done that before. Never. And look at her shaky handwriting. Josie‘s hand never shakes.  Dorian, I hope you have some good ideas.”

“Oh, I have marvelous ideas,” Dorian assured her, “Unfortunately, they all involve fleeing quickly in the other direction, as fast as Bull’s ever-so-feminine dracolisk can carry me. I never wanted an audience with the Archon. And neither do you. My intentions to rebuild my country from the ground up were limited to spirited speeches, and too much wine, and impassioned songs.” His facetiousness drew a critical look from his friend, who knew the truth, but who wisely let it go. “I had already set a composer to writing the song of the revolution, too. What a waste. It had lovely imagery.  Smoke and flames, and a phoenix rising from the ashes...”

“Apparently too much wine isn’t an option,” Asta sighed, attempting to match his careless tone and failing. “We can’t decline, and Josie has nothing to offer us.”

“So we go through with it, and leave afterward, as soon as it doesn’t look like we are fleeing,” Max shrugged, too nonchalant to be completely easy himself. “I’ve got Friends watching the key conspirators. It’s all good, Asta. For now. I’ll tell you if we need to run first and ask questions later.”

“The part where we all run in the opposite direction sounds like a wonderful plan,” Cullen interjected worriedly. “Why can’t we do that again?”

“Because it will look suspicious,” Dorian‘s moustache twisted. “As it should. I admit, however, I think that going through with this is… possibly the most foolish and bravest thing you’ve ever done, Amica. Simultaneously. That must be some kind of record.”

“Well, in that case,” Asta quipped, “I have to do it. Think of all the foolish things I’ve done that are about to topple off the top ten list. Au revoir, tumbling down that cliff on the Storm Coast because I was trying to reach a stalk of Prophet‘s Laurel! Goodbye, dancing with the woman that I’m pretty sure is attempting to assassinate the Empress of Orlais, only to dress her up as my court jester in a misguided attempt at humor! Adieu, deciding to try to…” she caught Cullen’s bemused eye and blushed a deep red that made Dorian‘s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Well, never mind that. As for the bravest, several dragons are already at the bottom of that list… How much worse can Radonis be? It took more bravery for me to confront Cullen about his mixed signals than fight the dragon in Crestwood by far.”

Dorian exchanged a glance with Max that spoke volumes, and Asta closed her mouth gently.

Cullen cleared his throat, “Quite honestly, love, I think I’d rather you went to the library. At least books can’t kill you.”

Asta patted his knee, “You only think that because you haven’t read my book yet. Give it time.”

Cullen swallowed, and muttered, “Maker preserve us.”

Asta smiled sympathetically, “I really don’t think he’s listening, love. Just a hunch.”

***

Asta closed Wisdom Failed: The Hedge Mage slowly. “Well, this one was no good. The only reason Solas would need this one is to maintain the illusion of him being a simple apostate with no formal training.”

Dorian snorted and corrected her, “He certainly did his research, didn’t he? Those _clothes_ , after all. No one would ever expect a Elvhen god to wear _that_.  Apostate hobo, certainly.”

“I bet they were comfortable, though,” Asta mused.  "I often envied him that sweater - it looked cozy."

“No doubt,” Cullen grunted, and closed On Lyrium: A Templar’s Memoir. “Love, I seriously doubt that this memoir was useful to him, either. Perhaps he was just trying to update himself on current events? Find out what modern Templars were capable of?”

Asta shook her head, “There has to be a pattern here. Look, Speaking to the Other. This is written by a Seer, someone who regularly seeks out spirits in the Fade, and talks to them. I think Solas was likely trying to find… friends. Friends like Wisdom.”

Dorian cleared his throat, “Asta, Wisdom died after she was corrupted.”

“But there’s more than one Pride demon,” Asta argued, “So why would he be so attached to that particular spirit of Wisdom?”

“Why are you so attached to one former spirit of Compassion?” Dorian threw back. “What made Command be drawn to you rather than to Bull, who regularly leads a group into battle, or to Cassandra?”

“I don’t know,” Asta sighed. “I still don’t entirely understand why you all decided to make me the Inquisitor in the first place - but it must have something to do with that. I’ve nearly gotten us all killed a hundred times over, making poor decisions. And yet Solas insisted I was wise. That he hadn‘t seen such wisdom since his… deepest journeys into the Fade…” her words trailed off. “Who was he going to compare me to?” She stared at Cullen, confused and a little unnerved.

Petri closed his own book, Fade and Spirits Mysterious, by Brother Genitivi. “It’s fascinating to read a mundane’s view of how mages interact with spirits,” he shook his head, impressed. “I wonder who his contact was, when he wrote this. He must have had a mage advisor, if not a co-author that he couldn‘t reveal. It‘s too accurate, otherwise.”

Asta tapped her fingers against the table. “I could write him and ask,” she said slowly. “He was researching the Envy demon when I last spoke to him - he was going to Therinfall, and wanted to speak to Krem. He might still be in Ferelden.”

“Krem?” Petri looked confused. “Who is Krem?”

“Mercenary with the Inquisition,” Cullen explained. “Killed an Envy demon that took over for the Lord Seeker.”

“A mercenary killed an Envy demon?” Petri looked impressed. “I want to talk to him, too. Envy‘s too rare. Do you think he would write up an account of the battle for the library?”

Asta opened her mouth and closed it again, looking thoughtful, but Cullen broke in before she could continue. “I doubt that. Krem is from Tevinter, and holds no fondness for his homeland. Apparently it was quite a battle though - to hear Krem tell it the demon took about a dozen different forms before he took it down.”

“Well, he didn’t do it alone,” Dorian scoffed. “It took all the Chargers except…” he broke off his words before he could say the name, and Asta rubbed his back gently while he took a deep breath. “That’s besides the point. You should write to Genitivi, Asta. He might have insight.”

“I’ll do that,” Asta agreed. “Hopefully a raven can find him. He moves around more than I do.”

***

_Dear Brother Genitivi,_

_I am currently involved with trying to reveal a certain former companion’s future plans. He was in possession of a book of yours - well, more than one - and I thought perhaps you could give me some insight into why he was searching for answers in these particular books._

_It’s been pointed out to me that you likely had a mage advisor when writing Fade and Spirits Mysterious, and I was wondering who, precisely, that was. I know that you hate to reveal your sources, but… this is a matter of some importance._

_Also, when you translated the runes from the Ei’illan Excavation… well, that is another topic, best saved for a discussion over a glass of wine. But he was reading that as well, and we have no comprehension as to_ why _._

_You used to write to Sister Petrine, didn’t you? Do you have any insight as to why she was drawn to debunking the Dalish Myths in her work, Dalish Myth and Collected Truths Against? She is so objective - I admit she has been an inspiration to me, and I only wish I could have met her._

_Dorian says ‘Hello’, and that he doesn’t think your translations on runes recovered from the heretofore mentioned excavation are your best work. He also told me not to tell you that. I think he’s afraid you’ll stop writing to him. Don’t stop writing to him - he’s very lonely here and needs a friend besides me. And you know you like him. Just remember he’s taken, and don’t flirt too much. Professional distance is important._

_I hope this raven finds you well, and making progress in your chosen Pursuit._

_To Knowledge,_

_Asta Rutherford_

_Inquisitor and soon-to-be-published author of Blood in my Mouth: Andraste’s Origins and Sacrifice_

_P.S. But don’t tell anyone. I suspect that several people are going to try to convince me to have it published anonymously. Do you think I’ll be banned?_

***

_My dear Inquisitor,_

_When will you start calling me Ferdy? You always have reminded me of Petrine. She had a great dislike of your mentor, I’m afraid, and let it get in the way of making your acquaintance. Such a shame._

_Her life was cut far too short. We lost too many at the conclave. I mourn her loss every day._

_As for Dorian - I adore writing to him, and I assure you I have no intention of stopping. Aside from his attractive person, to actually be able to correspond with a Magister is invaluable. He’s doing such good work._

_The mage I was working with… I’m sorry, Asta, but she died when Diarsmuid was annulled. Enchanter Estefania was a Rivaini Seer. She was well-respected, and a wonderful mother and friend, if uninclined to publication herself, she was more than willing to help in my research. Rivain, as I believe I said in my ‘In Pursuit of Knowledge’ was completely foreign, but I made a dear friend there in her._

_I always wondered what happened to her daughter. I hope she got her out… so little is known about the situation in Rivain after the Circle fell. It was such a tragedy._

_Her husband, Ser Andrew, who I was less well acquainted with, was sent to Diarsmuid by the Chantry, and actually went so far as to marry her, only to have his superiors find out about his ‘insubordination’. As punishment, he was transferred to Greenfell to care for the less… able Templars, and to take charge of the archives there. He took the opportunity to write one of the few publications on lyrium dependence, The Death of a Templar, published just before the conclave. He died at the conclave as well, which he traveled to, hoping to find word of his daughter. He spent the years after the annulment trying to find someone, anyone, who could bring him word that his daughter or wife were still alive, to no avail. I believe that Divine Justinia made him a Knight of Andraste before his death - I hope that brought him some comfort._

_(Genitivi’s handwriting grows shakier here.)_

_I’m afraid writing such things makes me melancholy, my dear. I believe I will have to go light a candle for all three of them. Good people, who didn’t deserve the tragedy their lives became._

_Based on my studies with Enchanter Estefania I imagine that your one time companion was likely trying to either commune with spirits, or perhaps change the Fade? Tell me, Asta, have you ever heard of Somniari? They are rare, but as you are in the Imperium… it would be an ideal time for you to research them._

_Say hello to Dorian and that adorable husband of yours. I’ll write again soon. I’m leaving Ferelden fairly soon anyway. I’ve taken a bit of an interest in Dorcas’ Avvar project, and think I might drop in on your friend Kenric in the Frostbacks. I want to see this shrine you’ve told me so much about. I don’t know how you dragged yourself away!_

_Take care of yourself, and write to Dorcas. She worries, you know._

_And yes, you are absolutely going to be banned.  An anonymous publication might be best._

_Sincerely,_

_Brother Ferdinand Genitivi_

　

***

“He’s right,” Cullen winced, and handed the letter back to Asta, “Diarsmuid was different. We heard about it, even in Kirkwall. The mages there were living lives that were unheard of in any other Circle. I’ve never heard of this Enchanter Estefania, but for a mage to actually marry a Templar…” he blushed, catching Asta’s eye. “Well, whoever performed the ceremony must have been incredibly brave to flount Chantry teaching.”

“Or perhaps was just a native Rivaini was responsible? My understanding is that outside of Diarsmuid the Chantry doesn‘t have a strong presence in Rivain.  It must be all but nonexistent, now,” Asta mused and then sighed, “But she’s dead, and so, this too, is a dead end.”

Dorian frowned, “Not exactly. I told you about the history of the Somniari in the Imperium, Asta. Don’t you remember? And I talked about the somnivorum - the orbs like Fen’Harel’s. He claimed they were elven, and we had an entire disagreement about it.  Looking back, his façade was so obvious.”

Asta paled, remembering her dream, all her dreams, “Well, shit. Fen'Harel is a Somniari. He’s been influencing me all along, hasn’t he? Even this list of books…” she slumped in her chair.

“What?” Cullen stiffened. “How?”

“So much for hunting the hunter,” Asta grumbled. “He’s prodding me along, herding me in the direction he wants me to go. Why would he want me to remember these, though? They’re largely useless!”

Cullen scowled, “Asta, how many dreams have you had?”

“Just this one,” Asta protested, seeing his alarm. “I’m in the Frostbacks, after Haven… fell, and I’m trying to make it through the snow to the Inquisition camp. I can see the fires, glowing. But there are wolves, getting closer. When I woke up, I remembered the books. That’s all, Cullen. I swear, I would have told you if he was popping up to discuss non-fiction in my sleeping hours!”

Cullen relaxed slightly. “I know, I just…”

“You worry,” Asta smiled. “I understand. There’s nothing to worry about, love.” She looked at Dorian. “Dorian, can you have Petri find me a book or five on the Somniari? Preferably something that I can remove from the library, since I won’t be able to get back here until after I know if this assassination plot is going to succeed. I need more information on what that son of a bitch is capable of before I die young.”

"Of course," Dorian purred, "Just make sure to leave the rest of us some good instructions, Amica, on what to do with what you've learned.  Just in case the bastards succeed."

***

The audience with the Archon was nerve-wracking in a way that Asta hadn‘t experienced since her first visit to the Winter Palace, except for being far, far worse. “He’s not pleased that you’ve come along,” Dorian told Cullen bluntly after casting his increasingly more effective spell of silence - improving with the constant practice it was getting - on the antechamber where they waited. “But he’ll cope with it, because Asta’s safety is your job, and it would be impossible for her to attend without a retinue. He‘s chosen to recognize the Inquisitor‘s authority, if not precisely her equality to his position. He‘s fully aware, Cullen, of your former rank in Kirkwall and your extensive history with mages. Radonis does his research.” He addressed them both, words of warning falling off his tongue far too quickly in his need to keep them safe. “Don’t drink anything I don’t check first for poison. Don’t eat anything I haven’t touched. Don’t accept gifts, or anything he offers you. I doubt any of that will happen, but you need to know. Radonis is… unpredictable and above all, wants to preserve the Imperium. He _is_ the Imperium. He is not your ally, he is not the Inquisition’s friend. He is _no one’s_ friend. He is the epitome of ’opportunistic’. Be on guard, as you have never been before.”

They both nodded like automatons, and Max slunk into the room from the opposite direction, dressed to blend in. “It’s all set,” he told them. “I have Friends placed around the room, ready to intercept any possible assassins. I just hope that there aren’t more than four. There aren’t too many of us in Minrathous proper. If they don‘t strike from a distance as the doors open, they probably won‘t strike until after you reach the Archon‘s side. If we get through that without being killed by the Archon, then upon your departure.”

“Thank you,” Asta told brother and friend, forehead creased. “I know this… isn’t what we expected. We never even thought this would be a possibility… never thought the Archon would even take notice of my presence… and I wish Josie were here,” she worried. “I’m not sure I can do this.” Her face pulled with anxiety.

“Hide that fear,” Dorian said, and pulled off her cloak with a flourish that was meant to make her smile, to reveal the intimidating burgundy dress. Asta stood up straighter immediately, blowing breath out slowly to compose herself, and he adjusted her headdress, golden against her hair. “The dress will help,” he assured her. “You don’t look like an ex-Sister from Ostwick.” The dress itself was a deep red with a long train, with fine golden chains centering the Inquisition symbol between her shoulder blades. A braided collar made of yet more golden chains sat high on her throat, and her eyes were lined with kohl to the point of making her eyes seem huge in her face. “You look almost the equal of the Archon,” Dorian smiled smugly, “and we all know you to be vastly superior,” he whispered, and adjusted her skirts to flow properly behind her. “Petri will join us outside the door,” he told both of them. “Cullen… try to be… I don‘t know… polite?”

“I will try,” Cullen grumped. He pulled at the collar of his black evening ensemble irritably. “Dane, be on alert,” he ordered, and the dog woofed in the affirmative, ears cocked forward, and tongue, for once, safely in his mouth.

Dorian sighed. “Amica, I know that you don’t believe, but a quick prayer to some deity or other would not come amiss. The Archon could have you tortured and beheaded if you behave ill enough.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Asta hissed. “That makes me feel so much better about where this day is going.” She placed her hand on Cullen’s, pushing her chin up slightly. “Shall we get this over with?”

Dorian nodded, and let his face settle into lines of geniality, effectively hiding the worry lines on his forehead, if not the grey at his temples, and nodded towards the doors, which pushed themselves open with a gentle nudge of his magic, revealing the room beyond.

The ceiling of the throne room itself was lit by what appeared to be stars, but closer and far brighter than anything that hung in the sky. An endless parade of pillars lined the center of the room, and candelabras edged the carpet that she approached on, flanked by people on either side, none of which genuflected or showed any sign of respect as she passed. Asta was careful not to gawk, realizing that she had to appear to not care about the room, or even about the man at the end. Her gaze was impenetrable and detached, not seeing Petri fall in next to Dorian, and her hand loose on Cullen’s palm, careful not to clutch lest her nervousness be given away with tension. Dane had elected to walk on her other side, so that he could intercept dangers in that direction, and Cullen, despite his formal wear, was carrying a sword, though it was peace-tied. Asta comforted herself in the knowledge that he had a dagger hidden that was not, just in case he had to cut them free. So two daggers, including the one concealed in Asta‘s false arm, to stand against the entire Archon's court.  She was relieved that Dorian had given into his demands, after arguing that one of the reasons that the Qun had invaded Kirkwall was because their ambassadors were cut down at peace talks when their weapons were tied.

Dorian didn’t put up much a fight, though the Inquisition could ill afford to declare war on the entire Imperium. Better to offend with the hope of forgiveness than the Inquisitor and her husband die at an assassin's hand.

They were at the mercy of an entire court of Mages, and they were all intent on reminding her, the mutters and murmurs of malcontents reaching her ears as she made her way to the throne. “A soporati, in the Archon’s court, the Imperium is going downhill,” she heard clearly, and did not react, choosing to remember Dorian’s early mocking of the Imperium’s love of fancy names in the library at Skyhold.

“How plain she is,” a man sneered dismissively to his companion. “I read that book by the dwarf - I thought she would be striking, at least. Disappointing.” Asta had heard variations of that now for four years, and almost rolled her eyes. It hardly mattered. The man at her side more than made up for any personal lack in her own appearance. She resisted the urge to tighten her fingers around his hand, or let her gaze wander to Cullen’s face, however much she desired the comfort.

“Isn’t her hand supposed to glow?” A less critical voice met her ears, puzzled instead of harsh. “But her arm… did she remove the mark? Why?! That wasn‘t in the book…” She managed to keep her face still and impersonal, knowing that her false arm was drawing eyes.  It was meant to, she reminded herself.

The voices finally died away and she stood before the Archon, a dark bearded man in heavy robes - not as tall as she thought he would be - who stared at them almost rudely, wearing nearly as much make-up as she was, and then shifted his eyes to Dane, with a barely contained frown, “This is the first time I have had a _dog_ in my court.”

Asta just managed not to smirk at his insolence,  when his focus shifted. “So, the Inquisition is in the capital of the Imperium,” he said softly. “For the Inquisitor is the Inquisition. It wouldn’t exist without you, after all. I never expected this meeting to happen, but recent events are… unusual, are they not? I hardly know whether to thank you for delivering us all from the prophet of a false god or banish you. From what I hear, however, you don’t have many places left to go. Tell me, Inquisitor, what are your intentions, while you are in my capital?” He paused, almost as if he cared to hear her answer.

“I am merely visiting a friend and conducting research at your library,” Asta met his eyes mildly, disturbed at the knowledge of power and the ruthlessness she found there, waiting just beyond his façade of cordiality. “A trip of pleasure, Archon Radonis.” Unlike Celene, there was no point in complimenting him on his palace, or his ancient city. This was not a man to move with flattery. This was not a man to manipulate with the Game. This man was far too dangerous for either.

“What sort of research would the Inquisitor need to come to Minrathous for?  Do not your southern cities have all the answers?” His eyes were cold, and he did not wait for her answers this time. “I do, however, owe you thanks, for that… situation that your Inquisition helped me with so many years ago now. Your ambassador is a jewel. Convey my regards.”

“It was our pleasure to assist,” Asta replied, inclining her head only slightly. “North or South, Archon, we are all part of Thedas, and it is in our interest to preserve what peace we have. We cannot afford such a petty luxury as arguing with our neighbors, in an age such as this.”

“Well said,” the Archon skimmed his haughty eyes over the small group. “Magister Pavus, you have a friend in a high place.” He paused deliberately before continuing, “I don‘t believe I ever congratulated you on your ascension to the Magisterium. Or… consoled with you upon the death of your father.”

“I am fortunate, perhaps,” Dorian replied, staying bowed, as he had not been instructed to rise. “My father is missed by his friends.”

“See you keep _your_ friends close,” the Archon instructed bluntly. “Friends are hard to come by in the Imperium.” His gaze fell on Petri. “Archivist Petrinius Cerastes, is it not? How is your mother?”

“She is well, Archon,” Petri replied easily, from where he bowed.

“Send her my regards. She remains one of our best scholars, even in her semi-retirement,” Radonis replied. He refocused on Asta. “I will let you remain,” he announced plainly, “in gratitude of your recent service to our Imperium. Tevinter does not need another war, at this time, and the Inquisition is… most capable.”

“Thank you, Archon,” Asta replied, never looking away or even daring to blink. “The Inquisition appreciates your kind words.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Very well,” he dismissed them. “If I need to speak to you again, I will summon you. Otherwise, Inquisitor, enjoy your stay in my beautiful city… for as long as it lasts.”

The paralyzing spell came at that moment, and Dorian, Petri and the Archon threw up shields in near unison, making it bounce off ineffectively. Cullen dropped his knife out of his sleeve and cut his peace-ties, drawing his blade and circling Asta, handing her the remaining dagger with Dorian, Petri and Dane rounding out the group as the Archon‘s Guards did the same with their ruler.

And then Cullen, by instinct alone, and with all his willpower behind it, threw a Holy Smite in the direction of the caster. A man sunk to his knees in shock, and the crowd stepped back as if he had the Blight. The Archon’s Guard did not move to intercept the perpetrator, and the gasps seemed to be in reaction to Cullen’s Templar skills rather than the assassination attempt itself. Asta stared at the back of Cullen’s head. “Cullen…” she whispered, suddenly very, very worried, and aware that she shouldn’t, couldn’t show the extent of her surprise, and hoped it wasn‘t too late, rearranging her expression to suggest that she expected this outcome with the subsequent hiss of warning from Dorian.

The Archon sat, impassive, with both eyebrows raised in the ex-Templar‘s direction. “You realize that the penalty for drawing weapons in my presence is death?”

Cullen did not sheathe his sword, but instead clenched his jaw at the man on the throne.

“If there is a next time, you will be weaponless,” his eyes narrowed. “You might remember some of us are never without weapons.”

“I do not have magic,” Cullen gritted out, prodded into a response, “But I assure you, I have my own ways of protecting the people I care about.” Asta touched his shoulder, a brief warning, feeling his shaking muscles, alarmed at what that might mean. “I apologize for causing offense,” he managed with difficulty, “if not for the action itself.”

“Go then,” Radonis urged them, unfeeling. “There will not be another attack, not here. And you are all most careful with your Inquisitor,” he gleamed briefly and coldly at Petri. “I will have the perpetrators investigated.” He nodded at his guards, who moved to intercept the man at last, still huddled on the tiled floor and breathing unevenly.

“We have information on those behind this,” Dorian offered freely, with accompanying whispers from the attending crowd on the identity of the broken man, “If you would like it, Archon.”

“I probably already have it,” the Archon replied imperially. “Many people would like your Inquisitor dead. But I am not one of them - or at least - not yet.” He cast a calculating eye at both Asta and her husband, and dismissed them again, with a gesture, instead of a word.

And they were escorted with a fully armed guard out of the Archon’s presence, and into the carriage already waiting for them, to find Max already within, seemingly unconcerned with the unsuccessful attack.

“What was that?!” Asta turned on Cullen, as Dorian cast his spell again to muffle their discussion from Grim and Dalish. “Cullen, tell me you haven’t…”

“I haven’t, I swear,” Cullen bent over on himself, now that he was out of the public eye, nauseous and shivering with chills. “I promised, Asta. I will never…”  He retched in reaction, the shock of success overwhelming him.

“It’s impossible otherwise,” Asta argued, even as she went to hold him, shrugging out of her cloak to wrap around him against the ague. “You must have… did someone give you... anything…”

“NOTHING,” Cullen vowed, insulted by the insinuation. “You know how careful I am - I don’t even take spindleweed, in case it was harvested in the Deep Roads… I barely take elfroot when you force me!”  Asta pulled him down into her lap to force him to rest, fighting to keep him there.

Max broke in, grinning in triumph, “Don’t argue, you two. You’re both still alive. This was a victory. And you know, King Alistair was trained as a Templar, but never took lyrium.”

“So what?” Asta spun on her brother, shoulders tense in the sleeveless gown as she held Cullen safe against his illness. “I could care less what…”

“Listen, Asta,” Max took her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “I saw him fight, when I was in Denerim, tracking the Venatori assassins there. _He can use the abilities, even without lyrium_.”

“That’s… impossible,” Cullen said, white-lipped and green. “After you take the lyrium, you need…”

“They’re a little weaker than the average templar I’ve fought with, but they exist, all the same,” Max contradicted. “I wouldn’t lie about this, Asta. Too much is at stake, and I don‘t want you blaming your husband for something that he hasn‘t done.”

Asta wrapped her arm around her husband under the cloak covering him, trying to find skin to touch, needing that contact. “Cullen can be a Templar again?”

“With enough focus, apparently, he can,” Dorian marveled. “Cullen…”

Cullen swallowed, his eyes only for his wife, leaning over him. “I am no longer a Templar,” he reminded her softly. “Whether I can perform the abilities or not. My life is separate from the Order,” Asta stared at him, and then nodded briefly, closing her eyes, and choosing deliberately to trust him. “This changes _nothing_.”

“On the contrary,” Asta murmured. “It changes everything.” Her eyes opened and her face was full of determination. “I didn’t miss Radonis’ warnings. He wants me dead.”

“Didn’t miss that little tidbit?” Dorian remarked genially. “Me, too, apparently. We should start a club. Not sure why. I’ve barely started a single fight on the Magisterium floor. I’ve been remarkably well behaved.” He nearly sounded offended. “Apparently all my good behavior has been for nothing. I could have wrecked a good deal more havoc, had I been so inclined. What a waste.”

“The question isn't why you, Dorian - we all know you're a troublemaker - it’s why me? I had Josie deal fairly with him at every opportunity.” Asta frowned. “I bet it has something to do with Hermes. Anything anyone wants to confess?” Cullen‘s muscles went rigid under her arm, and Max was silent. “Very well, I can tell when people think I shouldn‘t know something for my own protection. I hope they’re _safe_ ,” she stated softly.

“Missing elves and slaves,” Dorian sighed, “You’re right, of course. That would be the reason. We, even if you are being used, are becoming inconvenient,” he observed, with a touch of pride. “He could come for us any time.”

“We’ll pack when we get home, even if we can‘t leave quite yet,” Asta agreed. “Just the essentials.”

“I’ll have to follow you later,” Petri stated firmly. “I have some things to arrange. He doesn’t want me dead, yet. We can use that to our advantage.”

Asta looked at him, frowning, more than a little confused about his evident intention to accompany them on their probable flight, but something else falling into place at the same time. “Your last name is Cerastes? Any relation to Lord Cerastes, the alchemist who wrote the definitive work on the medical uses of Silverite? You said your family was from Marnas Pell…”

“My grandfather,” grumbled Petri, blushing. “There’s a reason why I go by my given name…”

“Your first name…” Dorian looked at him in confusion, and started to laugh. “Oh, Petri, was your mother a friend of…”

“Sister Petrine,” grumbled Petri. “She felt it honored her and her… less prejudiced works. Some of which my mother contributed to. She always did love her pen pals.” He was in full blush now. “May we please talk about something besides my more illustrious relatives? I’m not even the oldest son…” he sighed heavily. “I have a ways to go before I can make my own name mean anything.”

“I did wonder why your family let you go to the library, of all things,” Dorian marveled. “I figured they recognized your talent, and as the youngest, didn‘t need you to further the family name. I thought it was so refreshing, to see a child in the Imperium get to do what he was good at for once,” he drawled idly, “rather than what his family wanted him to succeed at. I should have known it was just an illusion.”

“Well, Mother did have some input and pull,” Petri flushed yet deeper, nearly the color of an eggplant now, his blush tinting his olive skin. “Can we change the subject?” He eyed Cullen, who was still shaking, his arms curled to his chest. “My grandfather might have some information on lyrium dependence,” he offered hesitantly. “I could write, and ask.”

Asta nodded, her face worried. “I would appreciate that,” she said softly, stroking Cullen’s hair where it met his neck. “We both would.”


	21. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW right at the beginning, but after the asterisks it's clear.
> 
> Lots of headcanons in this chapter, and I thank Iduna once more for helping me clarify my thoughts!

Asta made Cullen drink a full glass of water and an elfroot potion, before settling him back in their bed and curling up next to him. “Was it just a one time thing? The… smite?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen replied hoarsely, “I wish I did.  I used to be able to tell, to know, when it would work but now...”

“We need to find out,” Asta whispered. “If it was a fluke… well, you need to know what you’re capable of… we can’t depend on it otherwise.”

Cullen reached a shaky arm around her to pull her closer, and kissed the top of her head. “I know, but I can’t exactly try a Holy Smite at the public gymnasium, Asta.  And I doubt Dorian would volunteer to be the experimental nug.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Asta murmured, snuggling closer. “For now, don’t worry.”

Cullen snorted, “As if I have an option.” He stroked her side and turned sideways to spoon her. “Sleep, love. Things will look better in the morning.”

Asta chuckled, “I think that’s supposed to be my line. You‘re the one that just smote - smited? What is the past tense of smite, anyway?” Cullen laughed lightly. “Smote, then, some prominent mage in the presence of the Archon. We didn’t need that display of power, Cullen.”

“I’m glad it worked, though,” Cullen defended himself. “I hope it keeps working, if it means I can shield you from your enemies.”  His hand trailed down her thigh, trailing heat in its wake.

“Technically speaking, you weren’t the shield,” Asta pushed herself back against him further and flipped to her back, her head resting fully on his bicep. “Dorian was. You, Ser Knight, were countering, not defending.” She pushed herself up and kissed him gently, and then deeper, rolling over to rest on him with her legs straddling his hips.

“Asta…” Cullen met her lips eagerly, drawn in despite his shock and fatigue.

“Just say if you aren’t up for it,” Asta pulled back. “Perhaps, given recent events we should… reconsider our decision to… it _really_ isn‘t the best time now.”

“No,” Cullen refused, and tightened his arms around her back. “No, I won’t let even the Archon take this from us. I won’t let anyone…” Asta wouldn’t let him finish, bending to meet him again, and with a muffled groan he swept his hand up her back to bury in her hair. Asta pressed her breasts against his chest, and Cullen nearly choked when she sat up and rocked, sliding herself across his member. “Maker’s Breath…”

“No Maker here,” Asta reminded him breathily. Cullen rolled her over and pressed her into the feather pillows, kissing her with a hunger that he barely understood himself.

“No Maker,” he agreed, and words dissolved into movement. Long strokes of his hands up and down her body, and gentle tickles of her fingers against his abdomen making him quiver and chuckle before capturing the teasing appendage and pulling it up above her head to a safe place.

She teased him then with her body, rocking, her legs pulling him closer to her heat, with arched back and Cullen finally took charge, holding her leg around his waist and sliding against her with gradual pulses, accompanied by her muffled curses and demands. He held her other leg out and drove inside her at last, head bowed and hair damp with the effort of restraint that he quickly lost to both their desires.

Vaguely he heard the bed hitting the wall in rhythmic thumps, Asta’s voice raising higher and higher with her approaching release, her hand clutching and twisted in the pillow her head had slipped off of.

He stared openly, unblinking and focused, on her bare body, her wild hair, and her abandoned face, eyes screwed shut as she finally let go, and cried out her pleasure to him, only him, and he lost himself in his wife, again and again.

She drifted off in a short time, exhausted from the stress of the day as well as their exertions, but Cullen laid awake, thinking, and making promises that she would never hear, but that he would keep anyway, his arm tight across her waist.

Whatever had happened today, even if it only worked the once, he couldn’t help but see it as a gift, and felt his faith being renewed, whoever the Maker happened to be. He drifted off into the roads of the Beyond at last, more confident than he had been since they had arrived in Tevinter.

It was a gift. It all was, every moment, every day, every year he had been given to spend with her. Just the fact that she chose him, of all the whole, healthy people who would have loved to be with her like this… It was all a gift.

All he could do was attempt to deserve it.

***

Petri arrived at the house a week later, carrying a letter, which he handed to Asta solemnly and without fanfare.

_My dear boy,_

_It’s all so much more complicated than ‘I have a friend who isn’t a mage, and doesn’t take lyrium anymore. Do you have any advice about lyrium withdrawals?’ I’m assuming somehow that you have gotten yourself involved with one of those southern Templars.  Lyrium addicts who are not former Templars are rare enough - who has the money, otherwise? I am left to wonder who are you associating with in that wicked city. I knew that we should have kept you closer to home. You remain the best research assistant I’ve ever had. You could always come back… Your mother assures me that you can take care of yourself, however, and she, at least, has the sense the Maker gave her.  Definitely my favorite daughter in law._

_The withdrawals have everything to do with balance, Petri. Your ‘friend’ will likely be reaching some sort of equilibrium soon, where the natural levels of lyrium - for it’s in the air, the soil, and is therefore in everything we eat and drink - will establish themselves. When that happens, he will likely improve a great deal, and many of his symptoms will disappear._

_Many, not all. Because what the layman doesn’t understand about lyrium is that the most addictive side of it is not the power it can give, but the feeling of clarity, of purpose, of knowing what is right. That is where the danger lies. You can break a physical dependence - though not many people have the willpower to do so. Your 'friend' must be exceptional.  But breaking an idea, a feeling, a belief that you need something to be whole - therein lies the true addiction.  The mental symptoms will likely always be present._

_My thoughts and prayers are with your ‘friend’. Keep me posted._

_And please let me know if I need to have a few words with your mother about your… preferences? I have no desire to let her matchmake for you if your interests lie elsewhere. I’ve already been through it too many times, with your grandmother and our children, and again with all four of your brothers. I just want to shut myself up in my study and run my experiments. I’ve earned my seclusion, I believe.  I have no desire for house parties and dances and simpering young women who can't tell Silverite from Volcanic Aurum at my age._

_Perhaps your mother needs a project. One that doesn’t revolve around the marital status of her youngest son. Her correspondence has been sadly lacking since that tragedy at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  And heaven knows your father is far too absorbed in his own translations.  It boggles the mind that he managed to sire five of you boys.  He was probably thinking about something else at the time, knowing my son.  Perhaps these 'friends' you write so much about have a few ideas?  I must admit, I am envious of your acquaintance with the Inquisitor.  I have a million questions about the metals she found in the Fade.  Veil Quartz... just imagine the medical implications!  Perhaps your 'friend' could have her send me a letter?  Even just a list of the metals she encountered would be extraordinary._

_I do believe I am running out of single quotation marks. How droll._

_Take care, in any case, Petri. We hope to see you at some point this year. You let too long go between visits home. Everyone needs a break from work occasionally._

_I remain,_

_Grandfather Marcellus_

_Lord Cerastes of Marnas Pell, and the premier researcher of the medical uses of Silverite_

***

Asta frowned, but a spark of hope lit in her eyes. “So… we wait and see? But what does this mean about the resurgance of Cullen’s abilities? Is it temporary?”

Petri shrugged apologetically, “I did ask, but my guess is that Grandfather doesn’t know. Perhaps in finding a balance Ser Rutherford’s body is attempting to use up what is left?”

“I have been unable to use any of these abilities for years,” Cullen argued, irritated. “Why would they come back now?”

Asta handed the letter back to Petri, “If lyrium is in the soil, and in everything, more or less, perhaps… perhaps there is more latent lyrium where we are now?” She coughed, already regretting mentioning the possibility when she saw Cullen pale in reaction.  “In any case, I think its best if we don’t depend upon it, Cullen. If it works, then we are lucky. If not… we are no worse off.  If its in everything, we can't precisely eliminate it entirely.”

Cullen nodded, but his lips were firm. “Still, if I get a chance to try it again, I will, Asta.” He met her eyes, prepared to fight. “Even if it leaves me shaking every time.”

“Worry about it if and when there is a next time,” Dorian drawled. “If you are in a position where you need your skills, then you have bigger problems than whether or not you’ll be shaking afterward.”

***

The first letter from Bernie arrived the following week, and Max opened it in his room, his legs giving out when he realized who it was from, as he fell into a chair that wasn‘t quite as close as he had remembered it being.

_From Bernadette Garvil, in Kirkwall, to Maxwell Trevelyan, in Minrathous:_

_Dear Max,_

_I’m sorry that I haven’t written, but I have been busy. So, so, busy. Apparently it isn’t possible for a Dwarf to become Tranquil. The ritual doesn‘t work on us the same way at all. You should see the mages and scholars trying to figure it out. My Vigil half failed, for that reason alone. But it is possible to summon a spirit of Faith to touch us… once Seeker Pentaghast won the argument with the other Seekers to attempt the ritual regardless. I know how strange that sounds, but it half succeeded, as well. The upshot is that I’m a Seeker, Max, or something… similar, anyway?  I have some training to go through with Seeker Pentaghast, but I’ve taken the first step._

_It’s a bit like getting a sense that you never knew existed, like suddenly being able to smell colors. I’ve never felt so… tall, at the moment of contact itself. Fuck, it’s absolutely impossible to explain. I wonder if I discussed it with Dagna, if it would give her any insights? But I’m very happy, and… I want to come to Tevinter and meet you there. Seeker Pentaghast is on leave, because of her daughter - Nadiya is precious - and so I’m going to be at loose ends. None of the other Seekers can be spared from their urgent duties to continue my training. There aren’t enough of us - though Seeker Pentaghast is hopeful that more Inquisition dwarves will come forward now that I’ve succeeded. I hope she’s right, but there were never very many of us._

_I’ve slipped something into this package. I think you’ll be happy. I hope you’ll be happy. Mom and Dad have come around, Max. I think it’s me deciding to become a Seeker. They’ve realized that marriage will keep me closer to home than I might be otherwise. Mind you, I’m going to be gone a lot, but we can make it work, right? I mean, we’ve been separated before, and it hasn’t exactly gone… well… but a lot of that was because of secrets and the fact that you flirted with anything that moved._

_That is… if you’re still interested. Are you still interested? I really am sorry that I wasn’t able to write. Trying to empty your mind of all emotions for long periods of time takes lots of concentration and it isn‘t exactly a great time to focus on the love of your life. And doesn’t work well on Dwarves, like I said before. Especially when you are writing letters saying how much you miss me. You might have made me fail my Vigil, you ass. Seeker Pentaghast loved them, though.  She's seeing you in a completely different light.  I'd be jealous, if the Viscount didn't exist._

_No harm done, I suppose. But you owe me four pints of Dwarven ale and all those stories, asshole. If we’re getting married, you have to stop keeping these things from me. Within reason, obviously. I mean, I’m a Seeker or something like that now, so I suppose I could just start figuring things out on my own. Spying on you for once might actually be fun. And yeah, I always knew you were watching me, pervert. I didn’t mind. Hope you enjoyed the show._

_Love Always,_

_Bernadette_

Max slipped the stack of papers out of the package and dropped them immediately. “Holy Andraste on her Flaming Pyre,” he cursed, and scooped them up again with shaking hands. “Asta!” He ran out of the room to find his sister, shoving the contract into her hands when he found her in the parlor and smiling wider than he had in months. Asta read the top page irritably, then the second in disbelief, and then the third with increasing happiness.

“This is wonderful!” Asta beamed at her brother. “Dorian, we should toast the couple!”

“Yes, we should,” Dorian picked up a crystal decanter and poured everyone a glass, except for Emily, who reached out to take one all the same. Dorian lightly skipped over her to Asta, with nary a frown. “It’s not watered, Emily. No wine for you.” His ward sighed in disappointment. “Bull would never forgive me for being the first parent to get you drunk. That is reserved for him, and him alone. And you have to be older. Much older,” he scolded. “Remind me to tell him that, please. As well as the fact that you are never to be initiated into the horrible semi-beverage that is Maraas-Lok.”

“It’s not final,” Max urged his sister, ignoring the Magister‘s lecture for his heir. “They are negotiating with you as the head…” he blushed, “of my family. Or at least the most high ranking one. Dwarven Houses are a little different than human ones…”

Asta blinked and glanced at the first item on the contract - she had to flip five pages through legal language to find it. “As the head of your… Wait, I have to give you a dowry?” She looked at him, incredulous.

“Well, other than my income with the Inquisition - which since my recent escapades officially doesn’t exist - and the land outside Ostwick I don’t have any assets, beyond my admittedly attractive person,” Max admitted with a hopefully charming grin. “Bernie might want me, but her parents are more… practical. Mum and Dad have cut me off. I’m literally dining off your title, Sis.”

“That is not true,” Dorian contradicted. “You’re more than earning your way here, Max. Your sister and I would be dead several times over at this rate, without you. You‘ve earned every copper I‘ve paid you.” He hummed with regret, “It will be impossible to replace you, when you leave. You‘ve spoiled me.”

Asta shook her head, sure that she didn’t want to know, and took a sip of the wine, making a face immediately. “Dorian, don’t you have anything sweeter?”

“My little bourgeois,” Dorian purred, “Of course I do.” He rang a bell.

“Good, because I’m not drunk enough for this,” she assured him. “Cullen, they want me to give them a dowry. For my _brother_. My _older_ brother. I’m going to have to pay them to take him off my hands. I‘m not wealthy. We barely have anything that is ours versus the Inquisition’s!”

“You said that,” Cullen chuckled at her with a happy half smile, and leaned in to read over her shoulder. “If you’re not going to drink that,” he took her glass, “I will. Excellent vintage, Dorian,” he toasted. “I will miss your taste in wine the most, when we leave.”

Asta shook her head again over the next several pages of contract. “I have no idea what to do with this,” she stressed. “Do we have time to send it to Josie? I’m not even sure how much I can give you, brother, other than…” she looked over at Cullen, a little soberly. “Cullen, we could give him back the land?” Cullen hesitated and then lifted his shoulder in apparent willingness.

“That’s yours,” Max shook his head. “It was a wedding gift.”

“And we will likely never be able to use it,” Asta said gently. “I’m not popular in Ostwick, Max. If you don’t want the land, how would you feel about us selling it? To pay for your…” her mouth twitched, “wedding expenses?”

Max cracked a regretful smile, “It’s not what I intended. I intended for you to always have a place to go, but I see your point.” He frowned, “Actually, I should ask Bernie. She’s a Seeker now, or will be. Maybe I could just sell the whole portion, cash it out, and pitch in. What else do they want? I was so stunned… I came right down without reading it.”

Dorian peered at it over Cullen’s and Asta’s shoulder. “The usual for dwarves, asserting her mother’s line’s claim to any female children. Any males would be Trevelyans, or… whatever you are now,” Dorian waffled. “You aren’t a Rutherford, after all… and caste has no real meaning on the surface in any case.”

Max paled, “I don’t even have a family line. Can we just make male offspring align with her father’s? All that matters far more to her parents than to me. Children aren‘t likely, in any case.”

Asta shook her head, and took the new glass Dorian offered her. “Dwarves don’t work that way. Varric and Cassandra are planning something different, but they actually have two last names, and Varric is estranged from his parents. I don’t think you can hyphenate nothing.” Her eyes twinkled over the glass. “Take her name.”

“What?”

“Take her name,” Cullen urged him. “It makes sense. Just become a member of House…”

“Garvil?“

“There you go,” Cullen finished Asta’s glass and handed it back to Dorian. “More, please,” he said and Dorian nodded in approval, already reaching for the bottle. “You’re already being provided with a dowry by the head of your household, so why not just embrace the role of the bride?” Max made a face but in the next minute shrugged.

“I’ll ask Varric about any details,” and then Asta had a thought. “Ask Bernie if she wants to live in Kirkwall.” She turned to Cullen, excited. “It’s perfect, Cullen. We’re not going to use that house. It stays in the family, and Max and Bernie can actually use it. Right near the Seeker headquarters. What do you think?”

“I think you’re brilliant, as always,” Cullen kissed her cheek, already ever-so-slightly inebriated. “What a wonderful gift.” Asta giggled and Dorian sighed at their behavior. “What do you think, Max? Want a manor in scenic Hightown Kirkwall? Easy commute for Bernie’s job?”

Max smiled slowly, “I bet she’d love it,” he admitted. “Her letter says she has more training to do.” He realized he was still clutching said letter, and smoothed it out gently. “But the Viscount gave you that manor…”

Asta shook her head. “We can’t live in Kirkwall, either, Max. It will stand empty forever, if you don’t use it. And this way, you have a house, and if I sell my portion of the land, you have a dowry, and then you can maybe develop…”

“No,” Max smiled. “I think that dream is gone. Bernie’s a Seeker, and I want to be near her. I’ll sell mine too. I’ve had several people interested since Great Aunt Lucille died, and I’ll get a good price, if not a great one.” He looked down at the letter. “I’ve given up everything else,” he mused. “I need to leave Ostwick behind. I’d make a lousy landowner in any case. Too flighty. I’d be taken advantage of. Probably. But…” he looked crafty, “I might make a good spymaster,” he chuckled. “I’ll have Bernie ask Seeker Pentaghast if the Seekers can use me in Kirkwall. Please, excuse me,” he stood up. “I need to write to my girl.” He looked elated as he left the room, glass of wine still untouched in his hand.

“Time for bed, Emily,” Dorian told his daughter, aware that Cullen was well on his way to being drunk in front of her, and unwilling to be that kind of parent.

“Aw, Dad,” Emily slumped. “Can I at least borrow your crystal to talk to the Chief?” Dorian blinked at the name and his eyes filled up with tears. “Don’t get sappy,” she ordered crisply, with all his inflections, but she smiled. “Can I? I bet he’s not busy, and it’s still early, and I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days.”

“Fine,” he choked out, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Here,” he handed it to her, and then hugged her impulsively when she drew close enough. “I love you,” he muttered, almost against his will, and looking horrified as soon as it slipped out.

“Ugh,” Emily’s disgusted noise was unconvincing as she returned the hug awkwardly. “Love you too. G’night everybody.”

Dorian sat back down and grabbed his glass, and stared at the red liquid in it blankly, blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Breathe, Dorian,” Asta laughed, but she shifted to sit next to him. “Don’t cry, your face might never recover.” She handed him her handkerchief, aware that he always forgot to carry one.

“She called me ‘Dad’,” he enthused, voice thick. “And said… and said…”

“We heard,” Cullen laughed. “Congratulations, Dorian Pavus, you have a teenage daughter. May Andraste help you.” Dorian smiled wide, truly happy in a way Asta had only seen a couple of times, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes. “You’d better be careful or she’ll walk all over you.” Cullen toasted him lightly, and finished his next glass, rising to refill it himself.

“Emily wouldn’t do that,” Dorian insisted, and Asta sniggered.

“Dorian, you obviously haven’t known many girls. Trust me, there is no one more manipulative. Even I could twist my father around my little finger, and when I was Emily’s age I hadn‘t lived at home for ten years. I can only think of once when he didn‘t give me exactly what I wanted, and that led me to where I am now.” She raised her glass and toasted him. “Good luck.”

***

_Dearest of Dear Bernies,_

_Asta has the contract in hand, and we’re going to figure it out. She’s offered us a house in Hightown, and… well, fuck the details for now… I’m so happy. I thought it was over, when you didn’t write. I should have realized… I knew that becoming a Seeker was a long process. I knew the Vigil involved an attempt at Tranquility. I should have been more patient…_

_I’m going to sell the land outside Ostwick, so that what we give your parents isn’t only coming from Asta and Cullen. They don’t have much of their own, and it’s a constant source of worry for them. But I was wondering… would it be odd for me to take your name? I’m not technically a Trevelyan now, after all, and it would be… awkward otherwise._

_Asta says she’s going to ask Varric about the details, but my answer is yes. One way or another, we’ll make this work. Don’t come here, though. War is brewing, whatever lies the Archon is telling himself and everyone else, and I’m intending to advise Dorian to get the shit out of Minrathous for a good long time. Stay far, far away, love. I’ll meet you in Kirkwall. Stay safe, Bern. I mean it._

_I have so much to tell you, when I see you. Stories about what I’ve done and what I’ve been doing here. There’s been a lot of drinking, and some basic thievery. Saved my sister’s life a few dozen times. Nothing serious, naturally. Same old, same old. But I love you, and I’ll see you soon. I’ll tell you everything then._

_Love Forever,_

_Max_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have questions about my theories on the nature of lyrium and magic in Thedas, ask! Iduna and I have been working on this for months now, and we're so close... your question might be the one that puts the last of the pieces together!


	22. Revolution Takes Its Toll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Interchanging mind control, come let the revolution take its toll. If you could flick a switch and open your third eye, you should see that we should never be afraid to die."
> 
> From 'Uprising' by Muse

_From Mia in South Reach, Ferelden to Cullen, in Minrathous:_

_Dear Cullen,_

_We’ve had a lovely spring here, and now everything is finally blooming. Including Grace. She’s expecting again, if you haven’t heard Branson proclaiming the good news all the way north. The man is going broke buying pints in celebration, and declaring that this time, it’s going to be a girl. He’s liable to give his boys complexes if he doesn’t shut his trap._

_Grace is taking it well, though. I can’t imagine how she puts up with him. Better her than me._

_I hear from Ros quite regularly, you might be happy to hear. She obviously doesn’t take after her older brother in everything. This Krem doesn’t seem too bad. He treats her well, in any case, and they don’t seem to be rushing things. Her commander is talking about transferring her across the Waking Sea. She says she‘s excited, that she wants to get out of Ferelden and see someplace new. I hope they don’t send her to Kirkwall. I know that you wouldn’t presume to use your connections - but maybe you could pull a few strings? Even if Ros doesn’t thank you after… never mind. Its not important what I want, and Ros has more sense than you. I think._

_Branson’s business is going well - he thinks he’ll need to take on another couple apprentices with all the business that is coming his way from the Hinterlands. We didn’t get that many refugees, but Ros has been putting in a good word for him. We are just up the river. Makes it easy to ship things. Lots of furniture commissions. People are putting their lives back together, apparently, since Ros and the Chargers took out that dragon. Was Asta sorry to miss it? Did you even hear about the dragon?_

_Speaking of fighting dragons, Loren is learning his letters and numbers, and mostly thinks it a waste of time when he could otherwise be fighting his little brother and their imaginary prey. If there were that many dragons in Ferelden we’d all be dead. They slay at least three a day. Peter is constantly stealing his mother’s soup ladle and claiming it‘s his staff, when he can‘t find an appropriate length of stick, but Loren has announced he prefers an axe ‘like Bull’, and was caught with his father‘s hatchet. Maker have mercy, Grace is so tired lately, she can barely keep up with them. Someone is going to chop their foot off._

_The store is doing better than ever, since we’ve had so many past due bills get paid. Do thank your Ambassador. I want to meet her someday, though that doesn’t seem likely. Someone has to hold down the store, after all, and I don’t have the itchy feet you and Ros seem to have._

_In other news, the Arl is selling that piece of land up the hill from the millpond. You remember it? A few acres - nothing huge. Not enough to farm, but it’s just sitting fallow now. Close to town, and to the Keep, in the case of an emergency. We’re all wondering who will pick it up. Someone with more money than anyone in South Reach, obviously._

_Thank Asta for referring me to her Avvar trader friend - Hilsdrun’s goods are fantastic, and are creating quite a stir in town. Everyone is taking notice, and I’m passing on a few books to him that I’ve finished with. He has the most interesting stories, doesn’t he?_

_We think of you constantly, up there in that foreign country surrounded by mages. Tell Asta I love all the books, and to send more, if she finds them. I haven’t had so many good things to read in… well, never. She’s spoiling me. Give her my love and tell her to write more often._

_You both should write more often._

_Your sister,_

_Mia_

***

Cullen stared out their window at the masses of people in the streets below, clutching the letter from Mia, for once not full of scolding, or even bad news. Grace was expecting again, and Ros was writing regularly from Redcliffe, and Branson was doing well in his trade. Loren was learning to read, and taking to lessons as well as a very active, if bright, child could be expected to. The store was thriving, and South Reach was prospering.

And there was a largish plot of land that the Arl wanted to sell, just outside of the town proper.

He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. They hadn’t talked about it. Did he even want to think about it? Living that close to his family…

“Cullen?” Asta entered the room, back from book shopping with Dorian, Dalish, and Grim, and swung her bags down onto the bed. She weighed his tense stance and the hand on his neck. “Letter from Mia?”

“I… yes,” he smiled, “How do you always know when it’s a letter from Mia?” Asta shrugged, unwilling to give up her secrets. “You look lovely,” he complimented her. “You almost fit here, you know. If it weren’t for your coloring, I would think you were Tevinter born.” There was a brisk wind, and it had blown color into her cheeks, finally regaining color after her many weeks at her desk and in windowless rooms.

“And you hate it here,” Asta smiled at him knowingly. “Homesick?”

“I… Yes,” he agreed, unable to lie to her. “I do. I am.”

“I‘m homesick, too,” Asta came and stood by him. “Dorian knows I’m not staying,” she said gently. “He has for months. He’s sad, but he knows that it’s too difficult for the two of us, and there’s a civil war brewing. He told me today that he thinks we should leave sooner rather than later, so that we don’t get caught when the storm hits. And Max says that the minor slave revolts and disappearing elves and other slaves are looking more and more like something the Inquisitor should take notice of formally. We both know what that means. I can‘t help anyone if I‘m caught in the middle, but if I can throw my weight around outside of the Imperium…”

“All right,” Cullen leaned his forehead against hers, still covered by the hood attached to her lightweight sleeveless jacket. “We’ll start making preparations then. But where will we go next?” He held his breath.

“I chose Minrathous,” Asta wrapped her arm around his waist, and peeked up into his eyes, and saw the truth there. “You want to go to Ferelden, don’t you?”

“More than anything,” the longing seeped into his voice. “Lately, it’s all I can think about. Mia’s letter… there’s even a piece of land in South Reach that is for sale.”

“I need to go back to Kirkwall first, to see about the changes to the manuscript,” Asta nearly whispered. “It’s unavoidable, I’m afraid. If we leave within the next few weeks, we could still make it to Varric and Cassandra‘s wedding.”

“I will survive the wedding,” Cullen gritted his teeth in memory of the nightmares in Kirkwall. “But we can sail for Ferelden from there?” The wistfulness in his voice was almost palpable.  "I know, strictly speaking, that we shouldn't go - but the Divine hasn't exactly made a point of tracking you down yet."

"I suspect her heart isn't in it.  After all, most of our travel hasn't been exactly subtle," Asta hesitated, and then shrugged, “So we head for South Reach. Let’s go home, love,” she bit her lip. “Is it home, then?” She searched his face.

“I would like it to be,” Cullen admitted, eyes worried. “I know the Inquisition needs you, but…”

“We can split our time a bit, perhaps,” Asta sighed. “I hate politics, that assassination attempt - I was so frightened, so helpless. I understood exactly in that minute what Divine Justinia must have felt like, bound to proctor a peace she believed in, but knowing the process would likely fail.  But I have to try... at least to preserve what we have now, if not make things better.”

“I understand,” he assured her. “We have enough saved for what they’re asking,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s enough for a fairly large house, well, large for South Reach, anyway, and a garden. Maybe even a kennel. Maybe we can hire Branson to start work on it? I‘d rather have a stone foundation, it’s more defensible and resistant to fire, but it would take longer to build…”

“You know better than I,” Asta tightened her hold. “It sounds like we’d better get started. You’d better have Mia make the arrangements for the land. She’s good at negotiations, and we’ll sign the paperwork when we get there. Or…” she looked at him. “You could travel ahead,” she said softly. “Leave me in Kirkwall, to get the manuscript done, and take Dane and head to South Reach. Handle things yourself.”

Cullen frowned. “No,” he said firmly. “That is not an option. You were nearly assassinated, love. I’m not leaving you anywhere.”

“I'll stay with Cass and Varric, if you‘re worried. Bernie and Max will be there. I’ll be safe enough - no one has hired the Crows, yet, and I know how to deal with the House of Repose. We can even arrange for Bull to meet us at the villa, if you insist, but Cullen, I won’t let you stay in Kirkwall.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to leave my pregnant wife alone in any city, much less Kirkwall?” Cullen countered, satisfied with the deeper flush of her cheeks.

“Too soon,” Asta murmured, and crossed her arms defensively. “I don’t know for sure. Since I came off the potion, I’ve been more irregular… I won‘t know for another few weeks, Cullen. I‘m due any time… and I‘ve been under a lot of stress...”

Cullen traced her hair behind her ear, “I would put money on it,” he laughed.

“You are a terrible gambler,” she pointed out, laughing lightly in turn.

“Fine, if you’re right, you get a whole room, a library, just for your books,” Cullen bargained. “If I’m right, I get… a baby.” He grinned. “Win-win.”

Asta wrapped her arms around his back again and leaned back to look at him clearly, “Fine, it’s a bet,” she sighed. “But don’t get your hopes up? It‘s been months since... I don‘t want to disappoint you.”

“I won’t be disappointed,” Cullen smirked. “After all, if you’re not, we keep trying. More sex for me,” he protested smugly.

Asta shoved him lightly. “As if the sex has to stop if it does happen.” She smiled a little wickedly, and raised an eyebrow, “I wouldn’t let it, actually. This is still fun.”

“Good,” Cullen murmured, “Nothing wrong with a little fun.”

***

Solas’ mouth thinned, lips pressed against each other in displeasure. “Rebellion now will not help our cause,” he snarled at the spy, wincing and trying to curb his harsh tongue at the slave’s reaction. “Forgive me,” he apologized at once. “We cannot get them all out now! We need to have patience, to work slowly…”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Fen’Harel, Ser,” the spy spoke too softly now, and Solas could not suppress the sigh of regret. He should not have spoken so violently. “Rocks have been thrown, and people have been injured.  Someone has started fires, and the Archon is casting blame. They are rallying behind her name, my lord, not yours.  Yours is merely whispered around the edges.”

Solas’ displeasure cracked into despair, “Get as many out through the Eluvians as you can,” he said at last. “Children, if no one else. They were not the ones who started throwing rocks, after all. Probably.”

“Understood, my lord,” the slave nearly whimpered. “I will get those out that will go.”

“I am not your lord,” Solas contradicted. “And don’t fight anyone unless you must. War was not the point.  Not yet.” He braced himself on his desk. “Go now, please,” he said in a softer tone. Once alone, he sighed, and ran his hand over his bald head. “I did not intend this,” he said to himself. “But how can I urge them to take their freedom, and then tell them in the same breath that they are making bad decisions?” He shoved himself upright. "I will do what I can.  None of this was supposed to happen."

***

Dorian stared at his guests, shaking with the news that had just filtered down to him through his contacts. “What did you do? What I‘m hearing… we‘re not talking the dozens you were discussing before, Max. This is hundreds, maybe even thousands… from all over the Imperium and beyond…”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and looked guilty, but Max stepped up. “I helped a few slaves leave the Imperium,” he protested his relative innocence. “It’s been a month since the last group. No one knew enough to pin it on us, Dorian. I made sure. You know how careful I am. There‘s talk, but nothing out of the usual. And there‘s no way I am responsible for hundreds. Dozens, yes, but there were disappearing elves long before I helped Hermes…”

Dorian gripped the edge of his desk, and then grabbed a few things out, a moneybag, full to brimming, his Ring of Doubt, his birthright, and checked his inside pocket for his speaking crystal. “We’re leaving, today,” he ordered. “We’re heading for the villa. Asta’s research will just have to wait… I just received a notice that there is a slave uprising in Minrathous, that Minrathous is _burning,_ and that the authorities are blaming it on the Inquisitor. I only hope we aren’t too late to get out.” Cullen paled. “What were you thinking?!” He hissed, lashing out at both of the other men. “Putting your sister, your wife in danger like this?! But it’s too late. Whatever you’ve done… or haven‘t…” he glared at Cullen‘s guilty face, as if still not believing that they weren‘t responsible. “Fasta Vass…” he cursed. “You may have killed us all! Go get your bags. I’ll get Emily moving. We leave in an hour or less. Be ready.”

***

“We’re leaving now?” Asta stared at her husband, surprised for a split second, but already grabbing her packed bags from the bottom of her closet, throwing last minute items in and debating about Fact, before leaving her more functional arm on. “What’s happening?”

“Max and I… may have _accidentally_ incited a riot?” Cullen sighed his confession. “We helped Master Hermes…”

“That _was_ you?!” Asta beamed at him. “Well done! I heard about that for weeks at parties. All of his dogs too! I should have known! Oh, Cullen! I‘m so proud!”

“Well, Dane is going to get a possible… friend… out of it, assuming she‘s willing,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, blushing. “I thought you’d be upset, love. I put all of us in danger. You’re not supposed to look at me like…”

“You’re a hero,” Asta contradicted with a wide smile. “I want all the details, as soon as we’re safe.  Where are they now?  Did they get to Ferelden?  Or did you send them to Skyhold?”

“They think you’re the hero, though, thanks to Fen‘Harel‘s murals,” Cullen admitted softly. “It was mostly Max. He handled the details. It was just… my idea. Sort of. I was just the person that Hermes talked to in the first place.”

That did upset Asta, who bit her lip, mind calculating their options. “Does the Archon know?”

“Yes, or he will soon, and that’s why we’re leaving _now_ ,” Dorian announced from the door. “Are you packed? My contacts say the insurgents are invoking the Inquisitor. And there’s a slave revolt - the largest I‘ve heard of yet. Tell me you weren’t involved, Amica?” Dorian pled.

“I didn’t know until just now,” Asta defended. “Let’s argue when we’re safe, Dorian. You know we don’t agree on the subject of slavery…”

“We leave now,” Dorian repeated, cutting her off before she could launch into a lecture. “I’ve contacted Bull, we’ll check in with him every couple of hours, and he’s already halfway to the border with the Chargers. With luck and good horses, we won’t need him to intervene.” His tense muscles told an entirely different story than his words.  "Emily is waiting for us in the entry with Max."

Asta nodded, and grabbed her bags, swung them up on her off shoulder, and then grabbed Fact with her good hand. “Let’s go.”

“Slowly,” Dorian told them bluntly. “If we look like we’re fleeing, we’re dead. We don’t run until we’re across the bridge. We make haste slowly. It may save our lives.” He gulped, “At least I had the foresight to start the rumors that we would be leaving months ago. Maybe it will be enough when we all but disappear.” Cullen clenched the pommel of his sword and followed both of them down the stairs, his eyes on his wife.

***

The slow trip out of the city was painful, the smell of smoke and ashes, and shouting voices drifting through the narrow alleys they traveled, even the main streets strangely unoccupied for the time of the day, as the word of rebellion and fire spread. Dorian insisted that they stop to purchase a few unneeded supplies at random stores that remained open, to give the impression that they weren’t in a hurry, but they were across the bridge and into less developed areas by early afternoon. They gathered their horses from the boarding stable and traveled quicker then, far later than Dorian would normally have allowed, and found an inn, just before Emily fell asleep on her horse.

“She can’t keep going like this, Dorian,” Asta said, sitting on the bed next to the young woman, looking far younger in her sleep. The group had elected to share a single room for the sake of security, and the double beds were taken up by the already sleeping Emily, and Cullen, restless and irritable, upon Asta‘s insistence.

“She has to,” Dorian stressed, looking out the window. “I’m saving her life. How gentle do you think the Archon will be on the elven ward of a traitor Magister? I’ll be made Tranquil, as an object lesson, and she’ll be sold back into…“ his throat closed off and he couldn‘t continue, so he changed the subject. “Grim and I will keep first watch, and then Max and you, and then Cullen and Dalish? I can‘t trust you and your husband to keep watch together, after all.” His voice broke on the feeble joke. “Best to split you two up lest we all be murdered in our beds.”

Asta only nodded, and went to curl up next to her husband.

Cullen finally dozed off into fitful slumber several hours later, and Asta pulled herself out of the bed to join Dorian at the window. “So when are you going to tell him?” Dorian asked nearly silently, watching the figure of Grim far below, guarding the entrance to the building. “You can’t fool me, Asta. I’m your best friend, the one who supplied you with the necessary chocolate and wine every month for _years_ during our adventures, even when I had to bribe Bull with my own person to give up his cocoa. Don’t even _try_ to tell me you aren‘t late.  You're pregnant, and you both owe me.”

“I should tell him now?” Asta laughed bitterly. “I hardly want to make him worry _more_. He blames himself for all of this. And we have a bet I don’t want to lose,” she tried a joke and it fell flat, Dorian looking down his nose in disdain.

“Asta, the last time you held onto important news it was a massive mistake. I won’t let you sabotage your marriage again.”

“Not now, Dorian,” Asta met his eyes seriously. “A million and one things could go wrong. I’m not being careful, here. I’m not sleeping and barely eating and traveling too far too fast. We’ll probably be fighting with our lives on the line before we can get anywhere safe. It’s… kinder, isn’t it, if something happens? I’ll tell him… soon.”

Dorian frowned, “If you don’t, I will,” he warned her.

“Deal,” Asta agreed. “I just… I just want us to be safe first.”

“There’s no place on Thedas that is safe for you, Amica,” Dorian sighed. “Except for Skyhold. Perhaps. But you will tell him at the villa?”

“At the villa,” Asta sighed in answer. “Lay down, Dorian, and try to sleep. Cullen’s out, Max is out, and they both need rest. I can’t sleep at all. I’ll wake everyone if anything happens.” Dorian nodded, and went to curl up on the floor next to his daughter. Asta stared out the window for a long time, counting stars and tracing constellations, and wishing that she could read the future in them, and keeping her hand far away from her stomach on purpose, unwilling to admit the possibility with even a gesture.

After a long time, Cullen relieved her, and she laid down with her eyes shut, and tried to rest, without much luck, refusing to curl up as if she had something to protect, and feeling Cullen’s protective eyes upon her, instead of where he was supposed to be watching.

 

***

The next morning they were up before the sun, Dorian arguing with Bull by crystal while they traveled, all of them eating while they rode.

“I had nothing to do with it, Amatus! Max and Cullen…”

“Max I can believe, the twisty bastard,” Bull’s voice grunted with respect, “But _Cullen_ …”

“He was bribed. With a _dog_ ,” Dorian explained, exasperated. “And I assure you, had I known the extremes that… hobo apostate was going to, how he was using _my_ Amica, I would have taken steps to assure…”

Bull snorted audibly even through the distortion of the crystal, breaking into Dorian’s irritable monologue, and Emily giggled, despite the aura of fear and fatigue that surrounded them all. “Figures it took a dog. You take care of them, Kadan. Grim and Dalish have their orders.”

“I am taking care of them,” Dorian sniffled. “Believe me, Amatus.”

“I’m on the way,” Bull assured him, sounding worried. “You hit trouble, just have Asta call, or even Em. But get them out of there, Dorian. No matter what.”

“I will,” Dorian wiped a tear away. “I will, Amatus. I’ll do whatever it takes. I… love you.”

“I’m coming, Kadan,” Bull’s voice was soft. “Don’t act like this is goodbye. I‘m coming to get you.”

***

The attack came three days out, when everyone was tired from traveling too far in too few days with too little sleep. It came in a sudden flash of lightning from a clear sky and the smell of ozone, iron and blood in the air.

Asta, not hit by the original attack, recovered enough to throw a knife, hitting a mage with a lucky shot in the throat, and dropped into stealth.

"Put on the ring, Emily!" Dorian yelled at his daughter, who fumbled in her waist pouch, but slipped on his Ring of Doubt, disappearing in a moment.

Cullen tried a Smite through the haze of his fatigue and the buzz of the tingling aftermath of the lightening, startled when it contacted and the mage crumpled. He immediately tried again with even greater success, and swiped left and right, disarming the first mage, and then the second before removing the burden of their life from them with a snarl.

Max pulled a frozen and nearly invisible Emily off her horse and onto his, exchanging a look and a nod with Cullen, letting him ride off with the young woman in the direction of what they hoped was safety.

Cullen fought fiercely, but they backed him up to Dorian’s back, and mage and Templar fought them off together, Asta slipping out of stealth and snapping a warrior’s neck with Fact’s arms as he got a little too close to her husband‘s flank. “Thanks, love,” Cullen panted. “I owe you one.” She dropped back into stealth and soon after, another crumpled to the ground, bleeding out from an open wound along his side. She reappeared after retreating to a safer spot in order to try to rain bolts down on the remaining targets trying to get behind Dorian, with little success, her hands shaking too hard for her to focus or aim accurately. Dorian’s last flash of fire flared, and then died down into smoke.

There was a lull as they stopped and looked at the damage they had inflicted, trying to breathe through the haze, coughing hoarsely at the horrible smell and carnage.

“Go,” Dorian argued at last, spent and bloody. “Get her out of here, Cullen. Grim and Dalish, you‘re with them. The Inquisitor is the paycheck, this time. That‘s what you told me.  Report back to Bull, and tell him which direction I'm traveling in.”

“I’m not leaving you alone, Dorian,” Asta argued, sweeping her hair back from her face. Her hair had come loose in the battle, and it was dark and stringy with blood that was not her own. “Bull will never forgive me if I...”

“I’m not going to have you risk yourself or... anyone else,” Dorian flashed her a knowing look. “You know what I’m talking about, Amica, however long you intend to deny it. If I stay, I can draw their attention. I’ll take a slightly longer route to the border, is all. You’ll be across in a day, if you ride hard. Bull will be there soon… he‘ll come meet me… I can ride faster alone.”

“I’m not going to let you sacrifice…” but Cullen was already pulling her up in front of him on his Fereldan Forder, Potato, since Asta‘s horse had run from the fight as soon as she had dismounted. “Damn it, Cullen, put me down! I’m not going anywhere!” She fought against him to climb down from the horse, but failed. “Let me go! I won‘t leave Dorian behind to…!” Cullen cursed suddenly as she kicked his shin furiously.

“Damn it, Asta, that hurt!”

“She’s pregnant, if you haven‘t figured it out,” Dorian betrayed Asta’s secret brutally. “See her and my namesake safe.”

“I knew it,” Cullen answered, grinning briefly in victory at their friend, but worry creasing the lines in his face even deeper in the next moment. “I’ll come back as soon as she‘s safe, Dorian.  I swear.”

“You fucking ‘Vint blood mage! I ought to gut you! You weren‘t supposed to tell!” Asta cursed.  "And if you think for a moment I'm naming ANYTHING after you, you have another think coming!"

“Don’t bother coming back,” Dorian smirked in sudden bravado at Cullen, thrusting his chin up in the air, and ignoring Asta completely, refusing to cry or panic. “My husband is coming for me. He promised he would. Just tell him to hurry? I want there to be a few left for him to hit. He does so love to hit things, and he‘ll need the outlet for his frustration.” Grim and Dalish hadn’t climbed back on their horses, even while Cullen rode off after Max and Emily, Asta still screaming and sobbing to Cullen to let her go, to let her stay and fight. “And why aren’t you two gone?”

“Higher orders,” Dalish replied easily. “Chief told us, ‘If it comes down to a point where Emily _and_ the Inquisitor are already safe, don’t hesitate. Stay with Dorian, money or no money.’ So we’re with you.” Grim saluted in agreement, lips tight and determined, and feet braced, holding the horses he had rounded back up without being asked.

“Well, then,” Dorian smiled brightly in relief, feeling a little less alone. “Let’s leave a trail, shall we?” They mounted their horses and rode off in a slightly different direction, but still heading south.

With a little luck, he would be able to apologize in person. But even if she never forgave him, he knew that for once, he had done the right thing, whatever the Inquisitor thought.

Completely worth it, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me. I'll post again Thursday.
> 
> And yes, my Fereldan Forder is named Potato. Name the anime, and win bragging rights! ;)


	23. Take Him Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... triggers for past child abuse, blood, slavery, slightly NSFW because we're in Bull's head for a portion of the chapter (and I strongly expect that his head is never entirely SFW...), and triggers as well for the sappiest of happiness. In portions this is absolutely gooey.
> 
> Because apparently that's how I roll. Start out with a load of angst and then dissolve it in a cup full of sugar. :D
> 
> The title of this chapter is from 'Devil's Backbone' by the Civil Wars. More for Bull than Cullen or Asta.
> 
> "Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done?  
> I've fallen in love with a man on the run  
> Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please  
> Don't take that sinner from me.  
> Don't take that sinner from me.
> 
> Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what do I do?  
> I've fallen for someone who's nothing like you  
> He's raised on the edge of the devil's backbone  
> Oh, I just want to take him home.  
> Oh, I just want to take him home."

“What do you mean he made you _leave_?! Fucking mage not answering his fucking crystal! Grim and Dalish better be following orders,” Bull was scared to the point of shaking, and climbed right back on Asuna, accompanied by an irritated hiss from the exhausted dracolisk, as he ordered his friends and daughter to stay put. Maybe they’d actually listen for a change. “Don’t leave the Chargers. They have orders to protect you against all comers. Krem, Stitches, Skinner, and Rocky, you’re with me. Let’s go rescue my man.” And he rode off, fury driving him. “Fucking magister hero,” he yelled. “Dorian, if you’re already dead when I get there, I’m going to _kill_ you.”

Emily sat staring into the fire with hollow, unseeing eyes, and Asta came and wrapped a blanket around her. “So… have you met the other Chargers?” The girl looked at her, eyes dilated with shock. She realized that the girl wasn’t listening, and took her ice-cold hand instead.

“It’s been a while since I saw… blood magic,” Emily‘s other hand quivered as she pulled the blanket around herself. “I…”

“A while,” Asta said softly, and exchanged a pained glance with Cullen, who came over and sat on her other side. “It’s been a few years for me, as well.”

“Me, too,” Cullen admitted reluctantly. “Not since Adamant, I think. And even then, I wasn’t in the midst of it until it was over. Before that… it was Kirkwall.”

Emily looked at him over Asta, “You’ve all seen…”

“Once is too much,” Cullen assured her. “You never get used to it, in any case.”

“No,” Emily released Asta’s hand to raise a long sleeve, showing them both an arm marked with thin white lines. “You don’t. I…” Asta held her, then, far too tightly, crying silently into her hair. “Will Dad be okay? Will the Chief?” The girl searched Cullen’s face, scared, but obviously trusting him to tell her the truth. “I’ve never had a family, I don’t want to lose them…”

Cullen hesitated to lie, even to give her comfort, “Bull is determined, and when he wants something, he gets it,” he said at last. “If anyone can save your Dad, it will be him.”

“And Dalish is the best… archer I’ve ever met,” Asta assured her. “I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of her… bow.” Emily curled into her side then, and they sat around the fire, staring into the flames.

For the first time in decades, Asta found herself hoping that she was wrong, that the Maker existed beyond being a screwed up Elvhen mage, and that He was fucking watching, and that He would spare the father of this poor child, the second best man she had ever known.

Because they all deserved better than this.

***

Bull burst through the trees blocking him from his mage with a snarl, swiping his axe down through the first mage ruthlessly, cutting him in five pieces, counting the severed fingers, but not the resulting splintered staff, and turned to the next, pointedly ignoring his prone husband on the ground, obviously out of mana and completely disheveled.  Fuck, he didn't need a hard on right now, but shit... Dorian was alive.  He took a breath, trying to control the blood rage masking his vision, even while he split another mage into two parts that weren’t ever going back together.

Dalish was unconscious next to a rock she had apparently perched on to get some height leverage for her ‘bow‘, and Grim was fighting a rogue back with a limp shield arm, cut bone-deep from the shoulder to the elbow, trying to make his way back over to Dorian. They had earned a bonus, and some Chasind Sack Mead for sure, given that they had followed his orders to the bloody end.

Bull grunted in approval. No one was dead. That was good. That was very good. Koslun’s Ass, he hated losing people. But all the wounds he could see would heal, eventually. And Dorian was definitely still alive, despite the mess of blood that he was coated with. He took a deep sniff, and became aware instantly that most of it wasn’t his husband’s. Even better, though he was hit with another burst of rage that Dorian had been forced to defend himself to the point of filth. Fucking ’Vints making his pretty mage get messy. He swung his axe around and around in a whirlwind, roaring the whole time, taunting the rest of the attackers, allowing the rogues with him to take advantage, and Stitches to reach Dorian‘s side.

He could feel Dorian watching him, could hear the man‘s breath catch in his chest, and Bull idly wondered if he was as bad as Cullen, getting off on being the hero. But fuck, he could get used to rescuing Dorian from his own bravery. And then he shrugged mentally, and bared his teeth at his next victim, who backed up two steps in alarm. So he had a new kink to add to the mix. It had company. No doubt Dorian would have some fun with this one. Nothing like a little roleplaying. Maybe add costumes. Bull considered whether the Ambassador could manage to find him a set of Sten armor and an Asala. Fuck, that would be _hot_. And then he dismembered the next mage with brutal precision, his back still to Dorian, wondering if the mage would be game.

His Chargers were doing their jobs, and there was precious little left for him to wrap up. Rocky threw some Antivan Fire, with a shout of 'Horns Up!' into the loose knot of assassins that Skinner and he had rounded up expertly, and they burst into a sudden pyre that threatened to singe his eyebrows. Skinner popped out of stealth, and slit the throat of the next, and then moved on, stabbing the remaining mage in the kidney and breaking his neck in an instant, before he could even start bleeding out. She spat on the corpse as it fell, “Dirty Shems,” with a smirk and a sneer. Stitches was already tending to Dorian, who had a head wound, bleeding mouth, and torn robes, but the mage was looking at Bull through the blood dripping from his eyebrow like he hung the stars in the sky. It was a wonderful look to see on that face, still so fucking gorgeous despite the gore. Bull swallowed hard before touching him, afraid he would hurt him in his haste to make sure he really wasn’t gonna die.

He had been far more frightened than he would ever admit to anyone. Shit.

“What did they do to you?” Bull’s voice was gentle, even while he fought with his more primal side, and pulled him to his feet, at Stitches nod of approval. The healer immediately moved to Dalish’s side, sitting her up and checking her head and eyes for concussion. “Who do I fucking need to kill, Kadan, for hurting you?” When Dorian flinched at his tone, Bull tried to dial back his anger yet again, but then his mage spoke.

“The Archon, I suspect,” Dorian said dryly, wiping his lip with the back of a trembling hand, and hesitating for a fraction of a second before throwing himself into Bull’s arms, his own tucked between their chests as if he was scared to grab on and hold him tight. “I would recommend against a direct attack, Amatus. Fasta Vass, Bull, I thought… I thought you weren’t coming. Emily… is Emily…” the mage choked, unable to let the words out through the intensity of his fear and the aftermath of the fight. Bull tried to restrain his rage, aware that he had to fucking reassure him, let him know the facts. Even if he had a sudden urge to ride to Minrathous and disembowel a fucking Archon. Time for that after Dorian was better, he promised himself.

“I’ll always come. Haven’t you figured that out? Coming isn’t my problem.” Dorian managed a weak chuckle, tears soaking Bull‘s bare chest. “And Em’s fine,” Bull soothed his quaking mage, stroking his hair. Crap, he wanted to kiss him.  That wasn't helping his hard-on either.  “She’s just fine. Shook up a bit. Think the blood magic threw her… but that’s not surprising. You did your job, Kadan. Come on. Slowly now,” he lifted him to Asuna, who managed not to spit at Dorian for once, obviously more sensitive to the situation than she looked. “We’re going back to the Chargers, let you get some rest at our camp, and then… we’re going home.” Stitches had moved onto Grim, wrapping a poultice around his arm and binding it tightly to stop the slow ooze of blood from the muscle, and Bull paused, trying to decide whether to tie Dorian to the saddle or trust that the dracolisk could handle both of their weights. Asuna wasn’t delicate, but it was a lot to ask of an animal, to bear his weight plus anyone else.

“Home…” Dorian closed his eyes and leaned back against Bull instead of resting forward on the lizard-like mount, stopping him from going to assist the other Chargers with rounding up the other horses. “I‘m already home.”

Bull, struck silent, kissed him on the head, and then wiped his good eye, unwilling to show that level of emotion until they were somewhere a little more private, where the Chargers wouldn’t see him break down. But then, again… “Fuck, Dorian, don’t you ever scare me like this again.” He kissed him openly, hearing Rocky and Skinner snicker behind him.

Eh, it wasn’t like they had never seen it before. Let ‘em watch.

***

Emily fell asleep on Asta’s lap, and after a while Cullen looked at his wife, unable to resist the smirk playing around his lips, even as it warred against his worry for Dorian and Bull. “So, when were you going to tell me that I won the bet?”

“When the baby was born?” Asta pouted openly, “I really wanted that library, Cullen. And you are the _worst_ sport. You gloat. It‘s a good thing you win so rarely at everything except chess.”

He puffed up, overly proud of himself. “I knew it. I‘m not _completely_ unobservant.”

“Yes, well, it’s still early,” Asta worried. “Things happen, and after this… trip… anything could. You can‘t protect me if it does.”

“I can try,” Cullen took her hand. “I doubt you noticed, in the mess of that skirmish, but my templar abilities are still working. It wasn‘t a one time thing. I used Smite twice and it worked. And I‘m not shaking this time.”

“It… worked?” Asta bit her lips. “And you haven’t…”

“I haven’t,” he assured her. “I swear that I never will - even if the abilities don‘t last. I’m scared, you know that, but I will protect both of you with my life _without_ lyrium.”

She squeezed his hand lightly, and then tighter and leaned against his shoulder, turning her face into it. “Congratulations, then, Cullen. You won. And as far as protecting us is concerned, feel free to go through labor, then,” Asta said dryly. “Because personally, I think I’d rather skip it. I suspect it’s too late to back out now, however.”

Cullen teasingly sulked at the weak reveal, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, “I think I deserve better than a ‘You won,’ don‘t you think?” He squeezed, and gave into his desire to rub it in that he was right. His wife was right - he was a terrible winner.  "Surely you can figure out a better way to break the news to me?"

“What?!” Asta shifted away from his arm, a little irritated. “What, do you want me to wrap you up a cutesy baby shoe or something? Recite a poem about little feet on the stairs? I _hate_ stairs. Write you a treatise on the child-raising habits of the Avvar? Make you a cake shaped like a nappy?” Cullen shuddered, but was still pouting away his inner grin, so Asta shoved him, just a little with her shoulder, so as not to disturb Emily, her mouth softening. “Fine. Cullen,” she said in her most saccharine sweet voice, as quietly as she could manage, “You’re going to be a daddy.”

Cullen beamed and turned to slide his fingers under her hair to kiss her, and Asta laughed quietly into his mouth, kissing him back gently, her irritation already dissipating with his open joy. “Thank you,” he whispered, eyes closed. “That was much better.” He smiled wider than ever, “I’m going to be a someone’s Da. Thank you, love.”

“My pleasure,” Asta whispered.

***

Bull and the other Chargers limped back into the camp the next morning, Dorian slumping dramatically against Bull on the kossith‘s dracolisk, whimpering, but refusing to meet Asta’s eyes, as she glared at him, following him back to Bull‘s tent, stalking him openly, and making him aware that there was no way he was going to escape this confrontation.

“Damn hero of a magister,” she scolded. “Do you have any idea what you put us through! If you ever pull anything like that again…”

Dorian raised his bruised eyes to her with some surprise, realizing slowly that she wasn’t mad about his betrayal of her secret, but feeling the need, against all odds, to apologize nonetheless. “Asta, I’m…”

“Don’t you dare say it. I already _know_ ,” Asta choked. “And as much as I hate to admit it, you were right to tell him. But Dorian, I _can’t lose you either_. Understand?”

“I understand,” Asta rushed towards him, but stopped just before reaching him, and embraced him far more gently than his injuries demanded. “Does this mean you still might name the baby after me?”

“Don’t press your luck,” Asta muttered into his increasingly damp shoulder. “Your name is awful, and it might be a girl. It would be a travesty to inflict Dorianne or any of the other feminine variations upon a child.”

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” Dorian choked, half crying and half laughing with relief at her forgiveness. Asta hit his chest, very gently.

“I love you, fucking ‘Vint,” she pulled back. “Don’t go sacrificing yourself for me again. Ever.”

“Will if I want to,” Dorian argued, attempting to be flippant, and wiped his eyes with a bandaged hand. Emily swept aside the tent flap. “Emily!” He hesitated to reach for her, more than a little intimidated, but his daughter marched in, and stared him down.

“You, Magister Pavus, have some explaining to do,” the young woman thrust up her chin, eyes already leaking. “How dare you! Don‘t you realize how…” she choked, but kept going, as imperious as he had ever been, “ _alone_ I am without you? If you ever even _attempt_ to pull some…” she hesitated at the threshold of the obscenity on the tip of her tongue, but barreled forward, inexorable and now apparently trying to channel her other father, “fucked up shit like that again, I‘ll…” but she gave up at last and threw herself at him, and held him far too tightly for comfort. Dorian squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, and held her just as tight, muscles protesting. “Dad, please don’t leave me alone again. Please,” and now she sounded like the child she still needed to be, instead of the heir of House Pavus. Dorian had never been so proud.

Dorian couldn’t say a word, unable to promise that he wouldn‘t, to keep her, and everyone else he loved, safe.

Bull watched from behind her, and saw Asta slip out, leaving them alone. And Emily reached out and pulled him into the hug. “Damn it,” their daughter whispered, “It hurts to care this much.”

“Fucking worth it, though,” Bull rumbled.

***

The raven found them at the villa three days later, bearing news that was not entirely welcome.

“Just let Varric do it,” Cullen groused at last, after his only suggestion was shot down multiple times. “If you won’t let me call it Pup…” Asta took the letter from the bird gently, and settled it back into the available open cage with some food and water, and a few gentle strokes of his feathers.

“If Dane has his way with his new ‘friend‘, there will be puppies soon enough,” Asta rolled her eyes. “Let’s not make it confusing, please?”

“Yes, well, my Da always…” Asta gave him the dirty eyeball, already tired of hearing about his paragon parents, given that she had so few good stories about her own, and ripped open the letter, nearly choking after reading the first few lines. “What’s wrong?”

“Varric forwarded it from the Champion,” Asta turned wide laughing eyes to Cullen and he relaxed, realizing it couldn't be entirely bad news, if she looked like that. “She _and her husband_ want to meet with us after Varric and Cassandra’s wedding. To discuss a possible alliance with the Inquisition, Cullen.”

“Husband? Alliance?” Cullen flipped the letter over and saw the seal of Starkhaven in red broken wax. “Well, shit,” he laughed, “She married _him_? She married Brother Sebastian… er, Prince Vael? What else have we missed while wreaking havoc in the Imperium?”

“A lot,” Asta took the letter back, reading swiftly. “She requests a reply as soon as possible. She wants me, not Loranil - she‘s very specific about that. Almost rude. I guess… I guess we can’t go home, or not straight away,” she sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. “This is important, love. Starkhaven is too strategic and too large to snub for the sake of going back to Ferelden.”

“Asta,” Cullen started, but stopped the brewing argument in its tracks before starting. She was right, and his own selfish reasons for wanting to go home didn’t matter. “Then I’m staying with you.” Asta frowned and opened her mouth to contradict him. “Don’t even bother to argue. Given recent disclosures, you‘re not going to win,” Cullen took the letter again, reading quickly. “You said it better than she did,” he observed.

Asta snatched it back, “Well, obviously, ‘Sebastian thinks it’s time to mend fences with you arseholes’ isn’t going to impress anybody. The Champion was never known for her erudition or her tact. What do you think, Cullen, should we just have Josie meet us in Kirkwall for the wedding?” She tapped the parchment, thinking deeply. “Actually, it might be better just to have the first meeting on neutral territory. As much as I desperately need to visit Starkhaven, after what Bernie has said about the College there, I can‘t imagine this _not_ being awkward. After the baby, we’re going to have to make a real push to ally with the Free Marches and possibly Rivain. The Inquisition’s army is going to be crucial to defense from Tevinter, and the whole Free Marches is going to end up on the front lines whether they like it or not.”

“Sorry,” Cullen apologized again, ready to shoulder the entire blame of the next war. “I was just trying to help a friend.”

Asta shook her head, “Yes, well, just ask the Champion how much trouble that can get you into,” she sighed in disappointment. “Damn it, I was ready to be done with politics,” she stressed, nearly crying in a moment, and raising her hand to her eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” She fumed. “I don’t want to cry… I… need to think clearly and logically.”

“Pregnancy,” Cullen smirked, and she threw a pillow at him, furious in an instant, and making the bird ruffle up its feathers in alarm. “It’s okay,” he crossed the room and held her tighter. “It’ll be all right. We’ll go to Kirkwall, and then maybe Starkhaven, and then back to Skyhold, in time for the baby to be born. South Reach will wait. There‘s plenty of time,” he reassured her. “Can I get you anything?”

“I am not having cravings, you ass.” Asta insisted, shoving him slightly. “Every woman is different. Some never have any symptoms, and I am determined to have a smooth, trouble free pregnancy. I‘ll hardly even notice, other than the obvious, I‘m sure. It‘s a matter of mind over matter.”

***

The next morning, Cullen was holding her hair back while she threw up over a chamber pot, trying not to smirk, and feeling guilty about being so amused about her symptoms, given her discomfort. “You know, I’ve heard that having morning sickness is a good sign.”

Asta wordlessly glared at his far too chipper self, and straightened back up, eyes shut against the next wave of nausea.

“So who are we going to tell?” he asked in a less cheerful tone, realizing his mistake as she slowly recovered, and righted herself, grimacing. He handed her a glass of water.

Asta swished her mouth out with water and spat. “Dorian knows, so everyone here will know in about two minutes after Bull finally lets him leave their room. Bull knows already, he can smell changing pheromones, but he isn‘t going to blurt out the news. Thank the Maker that we have one friend who can keep his mouth shut.”

“Did you tell Dorian? Or did he…”

“He guessed, and I confirmed,” Asta started to brush her teeth irritably. “Arwe gon tok bout tis now?” Cullen looked confused, and Asta spat out the baking soda she was using to clean her mouth. “Are we going to talk about this now?”

Cullen shrugged. “I suspect Josie will want the news sooner rather than later, and I need to tell Mia before she starts accusing me of keeping things from her. I owe her a letter in any case. Though maybe with Grace knocked up too, it won’t happen.” Asta looked at him critically, one eyebrow raised in disbelief, “Well, it might… We should probably tell your brother, as uncomfortable as that might be…” Asta started chewing mint leaves. “Asta, can I kiss you yet?” He asked wistfully.

“No,” she ordered. “Absolutely not. Gross.” Cullen sighed and kissed the top of her head instead. “I’m starving,” she muttered grumpily. “Let’s go find something to eat.”

“What about your brother?” Cullen raised is own eyebrow, arched in challenge.

“What about him?” Asta grumped, and then abruptly gave in. “Oh fine, I’ll tell him. I suppose. It’s not his fault, after all, it‘s yours. It would be easier to just let Dorian tell him, too, though.”

“It’s… my fault. Right.” Cullen sighed and shouldered the blame once again. “Of course. But you’ll tell him today?” Cullen asked, somewhat hesitantly. “Otherwise Dorian will let it slip, and…”

“Fine… today,” Asta sighed. “Why don’t you do it?”

Cullen smirked, “Because he’s not my brother? I have to tell Mia, after all. You should have to tell Max.”

***

“You’re… what? How?” Max blinked at her. “Don’t answer that,” he ordered in the next second. “Asta, I didn’t ever think… Is now really the best time for… Shit, Sis.”

“Of course it isn‘t,” Asta shrugged, trying to be nonchalant in the face of the awkwardness. “It just sort of happened…”

“Liar,” Dorian murmured, and Asta kicked him. “Ouch. That leg still hurts, Amica.”

“You need to see a healer,” Max panicked. “What if all that magic had some odd effect on the baby?” a worried shadow crossed Cullen‘s face, leaving creases behind. “Bull, does Stitches know anything about…”

“Fuck no,” Bull laughed. “He’s not a midwife. Can‘t cure pregnancy with a poultice.”

Cullen hummed worriedly, “Asta, Max has a point, perhaps you should see…”

“I’m fine,” Asta shrugged. “I’ll see one in Kirkwall.”

Dorian set his teacup done. “No, I’ll send for one. Max is right, Asta. You should see someone, make sure that everything is fine, especially after recent events...”

“Stop fussing, all of you,” Asta ordered. “Women do this all the time.”

“But not you,” Dorian reminded her softly. “Let us worry a little?”

Asta exchanged a look with Emily who shrugged. “Men,” the teenager rolled her eyes. “All they do is worry.”

“Exactly,” Asta firmed her lips stubbornly, “It can wait until Kirkwall.”

***

_To Josephine Montilyet, in Skyhold, from Asta Rutherford, from Dorian Pavus’ villa:_

_Dear Josie,_

_Cullen insists I write to you now, and inform you of some critical news that will impact the future of the Inquisition.  Are you sitting down?_

_Surprise! I’m pregnant. Please don’t spread it around too much right now, for obvious reasons. I’m still working, and I haven’t seen a healer about when, exactly - probably late summer or fall. It’s early, Josie, and things could happen. I don’t even want to tell anyone, because of those things. I mean, a week ago we were fighting off trained mage assassins sent by the Archon._

_Um… right… so… we’re not in Tevinter any longer, either. You might as well consider that bridge burnt. There were some rumors being spread around about me freeing slaves, and being behind the massive exodus of elves, and the Archon decided that I was a liability. But we’re safe now! Thanks to the Chargers. Dorian got a little beat up while playing the hero, but he’s fine now._

_And yes, I know that you are no doubt marveling that I fought off ‘Vint assassins pregnant, but I’m not broken, just knocked up. I’m not even showing. It wasn’t any harder than it would normally have been._

_And don’t start writing and gushing about babies. Not yet, anyway. Please. I’m happy, I am. I just… am emotional right now and need some time to come to grips with the idea. If you want to write and gush about babies, write to Cullen. He’s the one in a gushing mood. Feel free to call him ‘Daddy Cullen’ or ‘Papa Rutherford’. He deserves it._

_And for the record, I have no intention whatsoever of resigning as Inquisitor at this time. As much as possible, the infant will travel with me and Cullen. The Dalish do it all the time, and in far less comfort than we do. We’ll make it work. We will attempt to be in Skyhold for the birth, however. Cullen believes it‘s the safest place for me. Don’t you dare start making changes to Skyhold based on my condition, either. Then everyone will know. We’ll make a public announcement after Varric and Cassandra’s wedding._

_In other news, I’ve enclosed a letter from the Champion of Kirkwall, stating that she would like to meet with us regarding an alliance with Starkhaven. A good idea, don’t you think? But perhaps we could meet in Kirkwall, instead of Starkhaven, given that I am still supposed to be exiled. Though if Prince Vael were to grant me immunity, it might not matter… it’s worked for Kirkwall after all, though perhaps that’s just because their Grand Cleric is so young and inexperienced. Given an ancient grump like Starkhaven’s Grand Cleric, I imagine my elusive freedom would end sooner rather than later. I’d rather not give birth in a Chantry prison. I’ve been in enough of those for one lifetime. With luck I can keep my progeny out of them entirely._

_Andraste’s Pyre, I hope it doesn’t take after me. Perhaps I’ll get lucky, and it’ll be a good little Andrastian like their father?_

_Anyway, I’ll leave the arrangements for our summit in your capable hands. I sent off a brief letter of my own, telling her yes, and to expect a reply from you about the details._

_I don’t deserve you, Josie. None of us do. I’m sorry for what must be a massive shock._

_Sincerely,_

_Asta_

***

_Dear Asta,_

_Allow me to express my delight at the news, Inquisitor. I will respect your wishes, of course, but I have enclosed several detailed books about things to eat for a healthy child. You must take better care of yourself, now that you are eating for two._

_I have already written to Prince Vael, and expect a reply as soon as possible. This is also excellent news._

_As for the situation in Tevinter - did I or did I not tell you to avoid offending the Archon? The man is a growing power. I understand that you had little to do with the actual situation, but still… surely there was something… I will write him a tactful letter, and send a gift. It may not be too late. Maybe once these disappearances continue even in your absence he will be more reasonable._

_Is it true that Fen’Harel was painting pictures with your likeness? Lace’s agents bring back such crazy stories, I can scarce credit all of them._

_I am glad that you are all safe, international incident or not. You will need to be more cautious in the future, given your condition. You’re lucky nothing horrible occurred. My aunts always claimed even riding a horse was dangerous… but that is probably an old wives tale. Perhaps Dorian could hire a coach, however, for your travel to Kirkwall. You must start taking better care._

_Trust that I will continue my duties in your absence, and that we all intend to attend Varric and Cassandra’s wedding. I’m sure Prince Vael will agree to the change in venue. I can’t imagine the Champion missing Varric’s wedding, can you? I was so delighted to hear about the Champion’s nuptials - I sent a gift, naturally. I hope my humble efforts contributed in some small way to overcoming our mutual tensions._

_I am so happy for both you and Cullen. I suppose it would be impractical to send you anything now, given your transient status, but I will make a list of things you will likely need before you arrive safely back in Skyhold. You should see a healer or midwife at the first opportunity, Inquisitor. You cannot be too cautious._

_Also, I have taken the liberty of writing to King Alistair to determine the extent of missing elves in the Denerim alienage. It does seem to be widespread, but I don’t believe anyone has ever done a census. A massive oversight, and one he will likely try to correct. I will try to gently steer him in that direction, in any case._

_Affectionately yours,_

_Josephine Montilyet_

_Ambassador to the Inquisition_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is entirely letters. Haven't done one of those for a while! It'll be up Monday.


	24. Letters Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters!

_From Cullen Rutherford, written at Dorian’s villa on the border of Tevinter, to his sister Mia, in South Reach, in a much belated reply to her earlier letter._

_Dear Mia,_

_We have some good news of our own, actually. Asta and I… or Asta is… We are… Maker’s Breath, I have no idea how to say this. Asta’s pregnant. Late summer, I think._

_There, it’s said._

_Go ahead and look into the land you mentioned. We’re interested, and I think we have enough to cover it._

_I’ll write more when I have more news. Congratulate Branson and Grace for us._

_Love,_

_Cullen_

***

_From Asta Rutherford, sent with Cullen’s above letter, to her sister-in-law, Mia, in South Reach, Ferelden_

_Dear Mia,_

_He really is hopeless, isn’t he? But yes, it’s true. Yes, it was sort of planned, despite the horrible timing - but when are things ever perfectly scheduled, after all? We should all take our happiness when we find it, and we’re… happy about this. Mostly. I’m rather tired and emotional at odd moments, but we did just have to run for the Tevinter border with our lives on the line while the Archon‘s worst assassins chased us, so perhaps fatigue and random tears aren’t so odd._

_Don’t worry, we’re all well. Dorian was the most roughed up, and he’s fine now. Bull is taking very good care of him._

_If you hear rumors about the Inquisitor freeing slaves in the Imperium, or making elves disappear, or things of that sort, they are only_ partially _true. Cullen and my brother arranged for a personal friend, who happened to be a slave, to leave the Imperium without his owner’s permission. That owner was_ technically _the Archon. But all the disappearances and whatnot - that’s not me. That’s not us. That would be Fen’Harel, who is apparently using me as some sort of icon for whatever he’s trying to pull. I have theories, but that’s it. And I had to leave the Imperium before I could manage to finish my research on the son of a bitch._

_Oh, and I finished my book. I still have to finalize everything, but I’ll send you a copy, of course. Assuming you promise not to hate me when you read it. I’m going to be getting a lot of hate mail._

_I love you all, and we hope to come home soon. Unfortunately, it looks like our stay in the Marches will be somewhat extended. We have to try to make an alliance with Starkhaven, so that in the next war they won’t just ally with Tevinter and repeat history. They approached us, so we’re hopeful._

_Don’t worry, I’m being as careful as I can be. And feel free to call Cullen all the daddy nicknames you want. Because I’m not doing it. Someone should though. I think he’s feeling like he’s missing out. Perhaps I’m too practical? But every time I start to say ‘Daddy’ to him, I crack up laughing. I’m offending him, I think. But he’s not_ my _daddy. Thank the Maker or whoever else is listening. Not that he won’t be a great one, but…_

_I think I’m digging a bigger hole here, so I’m just going to put down the shovel now._

_Love to you all, and congratulations to Grace and Branson. Do they need anything for the new little one?_

_Asta_

_***_

_From Mia, in South Reach, Ferelden, to her brother Cullen Rutherford, outside Tevinter._

_You idiot! You knocked her up NOW? Now that there’s a war brewing in Tevinter, and the Archon wants her head, and she’s exiled from anyplace like a home, constantly traveling, and now, NOW is when you two imbeciles decide it’s the time to fucking have a baby. Congratulations, Cullen, it’s a fool. And that fool is YOU._

_I sincerely hope that this actually was an ‘oops‘, whatever Asta claims about it being planned, because otherwise, I don’t see how this will ever work. I worry about you two enough, and now I have yet another person to worry over, one that_ is completely dependent on both of YOU. Maker preserve your poor child from its parents‘ stupidity.

_I am reminded by Grace, the ever tactful, that we have only a slim glimpse into your circumstances. You probably both know things I do not, and maybe this isn’t such a disaster as it appears from my point of view._

_In the interest of trying to keep my temper, I have your old blanket here, Ros carried it out of Honnleath, and she says she doesn’t want it. She says she’s never having kids, and who am I to argue? Would you like me to repair it and send it north?_

_Branson says he’s buying you a pint when you come home next, in celebration. Do you think there’s even a slim chance that Asta could have the baby nearby? The way you two wander… perhaps something can be arranged?_

_The land sold, unfortunately. I’ll keep my eyes and ears out for other rumors, but it’s pretty rare for something like that to come up for sale. At least around here._

_The realization that you married a woman who refers to the Elvhen trickster god as a ‘son of a bitch’ gives me considerable pause, Cullen. Take care of each other, please. You know I worry._

_Love,_

_Mia_

_***_

_Mia,_

_So much for expecting family to be happy for us, I suppose. I would like the blanket._

_Cullen_

_(The below was included with the above single line of text)_

_Dear Mia,_

_Ignore him. We both know you worry, and yes, our circumstances aren’t exactly… wonderful. But while this wasn’t exactly an ‘oops’ it was the result of an epiphany of sorts. We realized before we were married that we would never find the perfect moment to take what we want - that there is always something else standing in our way. So we decided, together, to give this a try._

_It did happen a little sooner than I was expecting, given our ages and some of the toxic substances we have come into contact with over the years, but we are happy. Mostly. When I’m not laying awake telling myself I am making the biggest mistake an Inquisitor has ever made, trying to have it all._

_Cullen has just grumpily informed me that he is blissful, except for when he receives nagging, insulting letters from his sister. I know better. He’s thrilled about the baby, but not so much about our circumstances. You have hurt his feelings, Mia. He’s more sensitive than you realize._

_I have just been emphatically corrected. Men, I am reliably informed by someone in the know, are not ‘sensitive’. I have informed the male in question to quit reading over my shoulder if he’s going to object to everything I write. He is now sulking._

_Also, men do not ‘sulk’. Of course. How foolish I am. Also, it’s not to be calling ‘brooding’, ‘pouting’, ‘being moody’, ‘being in a funk’, etc. Moving on._

_I know you speak from love, Mia. We would both love the blanket. Cullen has nothing that came from before he joined the Templars except for the coin Branson gave him. And he gave that to me. He’s definitely superstitious about it now. He wants me to even sleep with it on._

_Are you getting many disappearing elves down your way?_

_We love you all, despite occasional… disagreements._

_Asta_

_(The following is included at the bottom of the previous letter)_

_Dear Mia,_

_I am informed by the lovely woman carrying my child that I owe you an apology, as everything you said in your last is true. So I apologize._

_Asta is disappointed about the land. It seems that our options are limiting themselves. If you hear of something else relatively close, please, let me know. Assuming that you would like us to attempt to settle down within an easy distance, at least. Our tempers might not survive living near to each other._

_If that's the way you feel, disregard the last paragraph._

_Love,_

_Cullen_

_***_

_Dear Cullen,_

_Of course it’s all true. Except that you aren’t an idiot or imbecile, I suppose._

_The truth is… I am very proud of you. And while Grace is here telling me that I need to make that clear to you lest you never speak to any of us again, I mean it. I’ve always been proud of you, from the first minute I saw your ugly, wrinkled face in Mam’s arms._

_I pray the baby doesn’t look like you. You were such a homely thing. But I was still proud of you. And then you went away to be a Templar, and I watched you go with father and mother and nearly burst with my pride. You learned so much… you were so intelligent, and I was even more proud. I was proud of my brother, protecting people that needed it. I’m proud of you for standing up for what was right in Kirkwall. And when I heard that you were the Commander of the Inquisition, I nearly exploded with pride in everything you’ve accomplished._

_I am proud of you for overcoming so much, and for having the bravery to keep living, despite everything that has happened in your life. For finding a wonderful woman who thinks the world of you, and daring to start a family with her, even while your life is, to put it bluntly, a mess. You are the best and the bravest of us Rutherfords, Cullen. I wish you could see that._

_I was hasty, shocked, and upset when I wrote before, and I hope you can forgive me. You have done nothing that needs forgiveness._

_For the record, the sale of the land fell through, and I put in your offer, but significantly reduced. You’re offering way too much. There’s nothing there, and you want to give them a sum that will pay for a new Keep for the Arl. You might as well just buy the old Keep and build him a new one for that price. You have no idea how much things cost in the real world, do you? Just as well you’ve placed this in my hands. I’ll keep you posted on the outcome._

_I love you both, and my new niece or nephew, whichever it turns out to be. Grace is thrilled that her baby will have a cousin so close in age. Maker’s Breath, I just hope they don’t hate each other. They’ll make our lives miserable, if you settle close._

_The thought of having you so near is almost too much to hope for.  Please don't think my anxiety is based on anything like that._

_Please take care of each other, and the little one._

_All my love,_

_Mia_

***

_Dear Mia,_

_Yes, well, I suppose I was hasty as well. And I think it takes more than a little bravery to evacuate a younger brother and sister ahead of a Blight and raise them with practically nothing. And to see them now - both wonderful people - well, I hope Asta and I together can be as good of a parent as you were on your own to Ros and Branson._

_And we could have timed this better, but Asta speaks the truth. There will never be time for us if we wait. So we’re done waiting._

_If the land sale progresses, feel Branson out about the possibility of starting work, and how long it will take. I’m enclosing the plans I have in mind, but he should change anything he thinks needs adjusting. He knows more than I do about building a house. Building bridges I can manage, but houses are a different structure entirely. And this is a low priority - I don’t want him neglecting his other work in favor of it. We’ll pay whatever’s fair.  Don't let us cheat him.  I'm depending on you._

_Asta is rather emotional today, and has informed me that I’m to tell you that she’s going to continue working for as long as possible. We’ll see about that. She’s not truly showing yet - she claims one of these books I have yet to start reading (how many books about being pregnant have people written, for the Maker’s sake?! I have a stack ten deep that she‘s given me to read.) says that first pregnancies often don’t show for months and months longer than you would think, especially in muscular women. She glared at me when she said this, while she tried to lace up her, up until now, extremely well-fitting pants._

_And now she‘s in tears, declaring that she is not just a baby-making factory, and so I think I’d better just send this off and calm her down. I suspect that its more about the pants than about the baby. She loves this damn outfit. Even though it looks like pajamas._

_Love to all,_

_Cullen_

***

Asta bawled into Cullen’s shoulder. “Of course you’re still your own person,” Cullen soothed gently. “It’s only a few months.”

“And then we’ll have to carry it around _forever_ ,” wailed Asta. “Until it learns to walk. Oh, Maker, what have I done?! I won‘t be able to even carry my own baby! I only have one and half arms!”

Cullen chuckled, but gently. “What about those baby slings you said the Dalish use?” Asta sniffed sadly, but lifted her head.

“You were listening?”

“I listen to everything you say, Inquisitor,” Cullen said precisely. “I’m scared as well. I had a headache this morning, and my hands were shaking. We leave for Kirkwall tomorrow, and I’m scared I’m going to be sick on the road. What if that happens after the baby is born? Or what if you get sick while we’re traveling and I’m too ill to help you? What if…”

Asta straightened, frowning, “What ifs are pointless, Cullen.  The Qun isn't worth much, but that much at least they've gotten right.”

“Then quit making up your own,” Cullen laughed. “It’s apparently far easier for you to dismiss mine than yours,” he pointed out softly. “I’m still happy about this, despite Mia’s cold hard truths. Are you?”

“Mostly,” Asta sniffed, and blew her nose on her handkerchief. “When I’m not crying. And sometimes when I am. Its complicated.”

“Then we’ll be fine,” Cullen assured her. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

Asta eyeballed him, warily. “Food doesn’t solve everything. And my pants already don‘t fit.” Her lower lip vibrated again.

Cullen sighed, “I am feeding my child, as well as you. You skipped breakfast, because you were vomiting. So you need to eat something now. That’s probably why you’re crying, Asta,” Cullen was getting exasperated. “You can’t grow a person out of nothing. You need to eat a little more.”

Asta humphed, but followed him sulkily. “Fine.”

***

“You shouldn’t miss the Seeker’s wedding,” Bull rumbled at Dorian, who was finally allowed out of bed, having healed to Bull’s satisfaction. “She’ll think you didn’t care enough to come.”

“Amatus, everything I’ve received from my sources say that the Archon had my father killed. I can’t… I can’t let him get away with that!”

“Your father was an asshole,” Bull contradicted, and then immediately regretted it, “Sorry, Kadan. But that he didn’t know how amazing you are…” the large man stepped towards the smaller, and pulled him towards him by his hips. “That he would try to change that…” He growled a little, completely unaware of the sounds coming out of his mouth. “But you loved him, and I… well, I’m trying to respect it.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Dorian leaned his forehead against Bull’s chin. “But I can’t let the Archon win. I have to go back, try to change things. If I just sit here and wait for him to come get me… this isn’t Skyhold. I could be murdered in my bed so easily… Cullen has spent half his time here muttering about defenses, and telling me I should put bars on the windows.” Dorian shuddered at the idea of the aesthetics.

“All the more reason for you to fucking come with all of us,” Bull pressed the issue and his lips onto the top of the man’s head. “Come see Cass and Varric get hitched. Meet their baby. Enjoy scenic Kirkwall… think of it as a vacation from the cesspool of the Imperium.”

“Kirkwall is a hole,” Dorian muttered, but slumped against his husband wearily. “But Emily is going with you. She’ll be safer with you. But…,” he hesitated and drew a shuddery breath, “I will come. For the wedding. But after the wedding, I _have_ to go back. No arguments.”

“Dalish will go with you,” Bull promptly offered. “She’s already volunteered.”

“She has?” Dorian arched his back in order to look in Bull’s eye, his own wide and surprised. “I would have thought…”

Bull chuckled. “I think she likes the idea of getting one over on the Archon. She‘s always been cocky.”

Dorian half-smiled, flattered that Dalish thought of him favorably. “The regard is mutual. And if I have my way, we’ll be getting more than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, for those who are interested, I've posted a short one off of how Dorian left the Imperium. It's sad. He hates himself, and hasn't found any sort of balance yet. But I still think it's good, so I've finally posted it.
> 
> There's three chapters, I think, culminating in Felix helping him get to Redcliffe, and then beating him there because 'time magic.'
> 
> I'm going to be posting a few things like this this month, because while I'm not officially participating in the 31 fics in May challenge, I have a lot of things that are too good not to post, that don't seem to fit anywhere else.
> 
> Oh, and the Dorian fic is called 'Finding Dorian'. I'm sorry. Really. But it's appropriate, despite the fish movie of a similar name.


	25. New Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW at the very end. ;)

The road to Kirkwall was short, when they weren’t tracking back and forth to historical sites and ruins, and Asta was surprised when they arrived before the wedding, with time to spare. It was unusual for her to travel so directly. It was almost… simple, despite the morning sickness, and having to stop often to let the men fuss.

They were fast learners, at least, saying that it was Emily that needed the extra rest. And now they were almost back, and Asta found herself nearly grateful the journey was ending, however nervous she was about Cullen being back in Kirkwall.

“Bernie’s been cleaning up the manor,” Max beamed, nearly bouncing with enthusiasm now they were so close, hiking down the Sundermount with the vista of Kirkwall spread beneath them, “and she says she’s hired people, so we’re all staying there, or she‘ll kill me. Plenty of room for everybody, she says, even with her parents visiting.”

Asta went pale, and interrupted her brother’s excited babbling, “Andraste’s Ass, Max, am I going to have to finish negotiating your betrothal or some nonsense like that while I’m here?”

“Of course,” Max deadpanned, “The Garvils came all the way from Starkhaven to do just that. Merchant‘s Guild dwarves take their alliances very seriously.”

Asta clutched her horse’s reins a little tighter. “Fasta Vass,” she borrowed Dorian’s favorite curse, making the magister chuckle. “You obviously don’t take your alliances seriously. I’m not ready to meet your in-laws. You might have _warned_ me.”

“More fun this way,” Max grinned wide, full of anticipation. “I’m sure they’re dying to meet you, Asta. I suspect they think I was lying all along about my sister the Inquisitor. How could I, lowly thief that I am, possibly be related to such a woman?”

“Keep going,” Asta complained. “You owe me, Max.”

***

“MAX!” Bernie threw herself at Asta’s brother, and he swung her up with barely a grunt at her weight. “By the Stone,” he interrupted her scolding with a kiss that she returned with interest before breaking away to finish. “You’re so _thin_. You’d better be ready to tell me exactly what you’ve been up to… it’s obvious you haven’t been taking care of yourself at all… Didn‘t that magister feed you?” Dorian looked rather offended at the accusation. “Dorian, you’d better have been making him…”

“AHEM,” a gruff male voice cleared his throat behind them. Max paled and set her down gently, taking her hand before she could pull away. “Maxwell,” the bearded man eyed him suspiciously, with a glint in his eye. “Still taking liberties with my daughter, I see?”

“Papa,” Bernie started, with a roll of her eyes, “I haven’t seen him in…”

“Still, that you are meeting at all right now, much less staying in the same house…” her father began with a firm tone.

“Merchant Garvil, I presume,” Asta stepped forward, realizing that as the ‘head of the house’ she had to take control, “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she held out her hand, only to have him grasp it tightly, and tug her down to his level.

“Likewise,” the man grinned, far too close. “Inquisitor,” he shook her hand, and Asta almost had to wince, his grip was so vice-like. “It’s an honor, whatever lies Bernie’s been spreading about her poor parents to her friends. Max perhaps isn‘t who we would have chosen for our only child, but to ally ourselves with someone like you… well, it‘s a different matter entirely.”

“And you want her to be happy,” a more feminine, if still deep voice rang out behind him. “Whatever he says, he wants his daughter to be happy. We‘re wealthy enough to afford that, at the very least,” a woman with a slight dusting of beard along her jawline held out her hand to Asta regally. Asta tried not to feel like she was meeting royalty, and failed. This woman had more poise than Empress Celene. “Beata Garvil, Inquisitor, and this luggard is my husband, Darin, for my sins,” she frowned at her husband affectionately. “Bernadette, you have guests, and they are illustrious,” she scolded her daughter, who once again was… kissing Max, legs locked around his waist, and ignoring the background conversation entirely. “No _manners_ ,” she sighed. “I’ve obviously failed as a mother.” But she was smiling, watching them, even as her husband frowned at the same sight. “Darin, knock it off,” she whacked him on the chest and made him grunt with the impact. “We were young once, remember?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” grumbled the dwarf. “Bea…”

“Better chance at grandkids if you just let them get on with it,” the woman, obviously the one wearing the pants in the family, instructed imperiously. “You know our odds are terrible, otherwise.” She eyed Asta openly, nodding in approval. “At least we know their family is fertile,” she announced, and Asta blushed. Behind her Bull rumbled in amusement. “Your mother had three, correct? And you‘ve only been married a little while, and have already conceived,” She smiled, and Asta could almost see the calculations scrolling over her eyes. “An excellent sign. I assume Max didn‘t have any terrible childhood diseases that might have left him incapable?”

Asta gaped soundlessly at the woman’s perception and forward comments, struggling to find an appropriate response. How would she know if her brother was… she really didn’t want to know. She silently prayed to whatever god might be paying attention that it wouldn’t come up again.

Bernie finally managed to detach herself from Max’s lips and arms, blushing as red as a beet under her tattoo, “Mama, Papa,” she finally managed, “This is the…”

“We’ve met,” her mother broke in. “You were busy.” Bernie blushed even redder, turning the general color of an overripe tomato. “Now, are you going to greet your guests, child?”

Bernie held out her hand to Asta. “I greet you, Inquisitor,” she said formally, and Asta blinked.

“Bernie, you don‘t have to…” she started, feeling even more like she was letting down the side. Just behind her, Cullen started to shake in silent laughter, and she resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

“Nothing’s informal until after the ceremony,” Bernie hissed. “My parents aren’t sticklers, because otherwise, we’d be staying elsewhere, but these are negotiations, Inquisitor. Negotiations are _never_ informal. And strictly speaking, it‘s still your house.”

Asta swallowed, feeling nauseous. “Then… shall we enter? I would like to request Var… the Viscount be present before the talks begin, so that we don’t… make any etiquette mistakes.” She felt the blood leave her face, as she prayed that she wouldn’t throw up on her brother’s in-laws, and wondered in her sudden light-headedness if Sylaise was the one to pray to for such a thing. There had to be a god, ancient or otherwise, that would cover morning sickness, right? Perhaps Rilla of the Hearth? Avvar gods seemed like the practical sort… another wave crested and she gagged, ever so slightly.

“Just let her inside, Bernie,” Bea demanded. “By the Stone, she’s going to be sick… she‘s going to have a baby!” Asta grinned weakly and didn’t deny it. Mistress Garvil was far too perceptive.

“Inquisitor,” Bernie broke into a dimpled smile, genuinely happy for her. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, I think,” Cullen accepted on his wife’s behalf, seeing that she was afraid to open her mouth. “Now, may I see my wife comfortable?”

“Very good,” Bea approved openly. “Max, I hope you are taking notes.”

“Yes, ma‘am,” murmured Max, obviously intimidated by his future mother in law, to Dorian’s open amusement and Bull‘s chuckle. “Trust me, I have your daughter’s future comfort at the forefront of my mind.”

***

_Varric,_

_Assuming that your spy network hasn’t informed you already, we’ve arrived safely._

_I know you’re busy with Nadiya and wedding preparations, and running all of fucking Kirkwall, but damn it, I’ve landed in the middle of some Merchant’s Guild drama with Bernie’s family, and Josie won’t be here until next week at the earliest. For all that you find holy - and I know that’s more than I do - can you please come down here and help us complete these negotiations?! My brother’s happiness is at stake, and I’m fucking it up already._

_Bring Nadiya as an icebreaker. I want to meet her._

_Love to all of you,_

_Asta_

***

Varric entered the house the next morning, daughter on his shoulder, shed his shoes at the door precisely, and bowed to the assembled guests with all the grace of a born Merchant Prince. “Darin Garvil, it‘s been a long time,” he shook his hand, and then Bea’s. “Beata,” he marveled with an admiring tone, “You’re as lovely as ever. Imagine my surprise when the Inquisitor told me that it was your daughter that you were betrothing to Maxwell, of all people.” He shook his head. “I hope you’re getting enough for him, Inquisitor. Max is a treasure trove of talent. Wish I had ten of him working for me.”

Asta blinked, and then picked up her cue, waving Varric to a seat next to hers. “Well, talks have been difficult up until now, with me in the Imperium, but here is the contract, Varric,” she shoved the now worn and wrinkled pages to him across the table, trying to convey how anxious she was without letting the worry cross her face. Varric winked, and Asta relaxed visibly. The Viscount deposited Nadiya, plump and smiling, in Cullen’s lap, leaving him staring at the child dumbly for a moment before smiling back and starting to bounce her on his knee. The baby instantly shrieked in laughter, but Varric immediately frowned, flipping through the pages far too quickly to have actually read them.

“This is impossible,” he announced immediately, and grabbed a quill off the table in front of them, dipping it expertly into the adjacent inkwell and making swift alterations. “No, no, no. I don’t think the Garvils recognize what a good deal they are getting with Max,” he made several notations and addendums, and leaned back, pinning the Garvils with a Wicked Grace face to beat Isabela‘s. “Didn’t you lot realize that Max saved the King of Ferelden’s life? That he has personally ran missions, at his own peril, in the heart of the Imperium, that directly led to the Inquisition‘s victory over the Venatori? That for the last year and beyond the Inquisitor’s life has been in his more than capable hands? That he led a team into the heart of Kal-Sharok without causing offense? This isn’t a man that you can demand a dowry for. You should be paying _them_.”

“In addition, he’s been personally responsible for smuggling several key people out of enemy hands when captured,” Asta supplied helpfully. “Smuggling is one of his many talents.” Varric winked at her imperceptibly in approval. “I have no issue, as I’ve stated before, with supplying this house, of course. My word is binding,” she assured the couple, who were looking at their prospective son-in-law with a little more approbation.

Max blinked at his sister and the Viscount, evidently trying to keep a straight face.

“His prospects are quite good here in Kirkwall,” Varric jumped back in. “My soon to be wife, High Seeker Pentaghast, intends to make him the Seeker Order’s new spymaster.” It was Asta‘s turn to blink quickly in an attempt to dispel her surprise. “That will come with a steady salary suitable to the position, of course, as a qualified spymaster is always in high demand.”

The Garvils were looking at each other and nodding thoughtfully now. “We were under the impression that Max was nothing more than a…” Darin started, and hesitated.

“A thief,” Beata completed brazenly. “I’m glad to hear our daughter downplayed his importance in the war effort.” She flashed a disapproving glance at the grown woman. “However misinformed my husband and I are as a result.”

“Oh, he’s a thief,” Asta grinned, “But surely you both are familiar with the Tevinter ‘praesumptors’?” Even Darin looked a little impressed. “He has references from two prominent Magisters for his services, if you can’t take my word for it.” In her head she calculated how long it would take her to contact Maevaris but relaxed again, realizing it wouldn‘t be necessary, when Beata elbowed her husband harshly, before he could demand to see them.

“Of course we can take the Inquisitor’s word for truth. We won’t need to see the references,” the man grunted, rubbing his side. “As my wife says, we want Bernie to be happy. But it’s a good thing he’s not just some no-account layabout after all.”

Beata interrupted, “Of course he isn’t. We never thought he was, Inquisitor. Your reputation as a hard worker is nearly legendary - how could any brother of yours be anything else?” Asta allowed herself a smile, returned by the other woman. “Now, as you say, this house… we’ve already put a good deal of funds into making it habitable… I believe those should be counted towards any portion we would have allocated towards our daughter…”

Varric nodded once at Asta, who followed his lead, “That sounds fair,” she allowed slowly.

Varric broke in, “And any funds the Inquisitor provides for her brother go to the couple themselves, not to you two.” He winked at Beata, who flushed. “Come on, Bea, that trick’s as old as the Shaperate. You know the purpose of a dowry is supposed to be to set up the couple comfortably. And don‘t go ‘investing‘ it for them, either.”

“Of course,” Darin interjected, stroking the braids in his beard thoughtfully. “We wouldn’t have it any other way. Can‘t have them struggling to make ends meet while learning to live together. Marriage is difficult enough without having to worry about money.”

Max started to open his mouth, but Bernie shut it for him again, a hand to his jaw, before he could speak and ruin everything. “Papa, Max already discussed with me the possibility of taking our name,” she began, only to have Varric snort.

“Sorry, Dimples, you’re too late. Max is joining House Tethras. I left the paperwork up at the Keep, unfortunately. So sorry, I’m afraid that you’re all going to be family.” The Garvils both sat back abruptly, looking awed. “Unless you’d rather not marry into both the Inquisitor’s and the Viscount of Kirkwall’s family?” No one said a word. “Good! Then let’s drink on it, and let the Inquisitor go talk to my wife before Cass kicks in the door.” As if cued, a servant entered with whiskey in a decanter, and several glasses. “Ah, Starkhaven,” Varric sighed wistfully. “Hawke had some sense when she married Choir Boy after all. To the happy couple?” He lifted his glass and tilted his grin at everyone in the room while they all drank, except Asta, who went pale with one sniff, and declined her share, with a murmured apology. “That‘s it then, I’ll have my lawyers draft up the final version. Asta, you really ought to take Nadiya over to the Keep, and visit with Cass. She would have come with me, but she had a morning full of last minute wedding preparations. She needs them interrupted with something more important, before she decides that Bran needs a new hole in his middle.” Varric raked his eyes over her knowingly and smirked at what he saw. “In fact, I’ll go with you. Max, good to see you. Check in with Cass after the wedding? She’ll want to do a formal interview, I have no doubt. Beata, Darin, Dimples, always a pleasure.” He collected his daughter from Cullen and stepped to the door. “Curly, you coming or not?”

“Of course,” the Templar stammered, completely bewildered. “Right behind you.”

Once out of the house, Asta beamed at Varric. “Varric, you… prince of a rogue! That was amazing! I’ll still give up everything I was going to, but knowing that it will go to Max and Bernie…”

“It would have anyway,” Varric shrugged. “The Garvils are good people, Asta. But they needed to be called on it, so that they know that they can’t take advantage of your lack of knowledge of Dwarven customs. I saw that coming from a mile away. You don‘t want to have to dance to their tune for the rest of your life.”

“But making Max part of House Tethras… you didn‘t have to…”

“Look, Asta,” Varric stopped and pulled the corner of his cloak out of Nadiya‘s determined fist, headed to her mouth, “Dwarves can be just as racist as any other people on Thedas. This way, Max will be a little more protected from the kinds of words that fall around when a dwarf marries a human. Trust me, I’ve been hearing them, even up in the Keep. I’m glad to do it. Maybe I can talk him into attending Guild meetings in my stead until Squirt’s old enough. That would show the bastards.”

Asta hugged him impulsively, “Thanks, Varric.”

“Least I could do,” Varric grinned and handed her the baby. “Here. Get acquainted. Squirt, this is the Inquisitor. Inquisitor, Squirt.” Asta shifted her arms to fit behind the little one and smiled softly. Nadiya smiled gummily, a perfect echo of her father’s grin, if with far fewer teeth.

“Well, she’s yours,” Cullen said drily. “There’s no mistaking that smile.”

“Yeah, she’s the spitting image of my brother, Bertrand,” Varric grumbled. “Poor kid. Cass will never forgive me if she gets his beard.”

***

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra stood at attention, and Asta laughed at her before approaching her and embracing her, the hug only slightly awkwardly returned. “It is good to see you both. Cullen,” she reached out and shook his hand. “Let me have my daughter, dwarf,” she demanded, blushing and softening the demand with a kiss to his forehead, and took Nadiya from Varric. “You have met her, I suppose,” she muttered fondly. Nadiya latched on to her mother’s breastplate eagerly, offering another happy smile and bouncing in the woman‘s strong arms.

“We have become a little acquainted,” Asta laughed at her again. “Relax, Cassandra. We aren’t going to make fun of you. You look amazing!” She did, motherhood evidently suiting her. She looked a little less angular, some of her sharp edges dulled, but somehow looked twice as deadly with a baby in her arms.

“I’m still not back into shape,” Cassandra protested. “I didn’t know it was possible to be this…” she smiled, more than a little sheepishly, “happy, without…”

“Without having a level of physical fitness that means you are capable of fighting dragons and running up mountains without panting?” Asta teased.

“I’m working on it,” Cassandra criticized. “I will get there. I’m just too much at my desk lately, and the training dummies at the Gallows are insufficient… I want to get out and start running the Sundermount at least a couple of times a week… Hawke claims that alternating that route with the Storm Coast is very effective.”

“Of course the dummies are inadequate,” Cullen chuckled. “If you like, I’ll come to the Gallows training ground and spar with you,” he offered, only a little reluctantly. “I’ll need to find somewhere to train in any case… there‘s nowhere at the manor I can go.”

“Hmm,” Cassandra weighed his appearance. “How are you sleeping?"

Cullen was taken aback, “I slept… well, last night. Strangely well, considering…” he paused, “It is?” Asta took his hand and squeezed it. “That’s… good news.”

“I’m not sure it is a good idea for you to visit the Gallows,” Cassandra interrupted. “But we could use the throne room, correct, Varric?”

“Sure thing, Cass,” Varric confirmed. “Feel free, while you’re here, Curly. You weren’t there during that whole Arishok mess. Probably one of the few places in Kirkwall that won’t bring back bad memories.”

“Oddly, Kirkwall seems less… oppressive in general, on this visit,” Cullen admitted. “You’ve done a lot of clean-up, since we were here last. I‘ve never seen Kirkwall look so tidy.”

“Hawke helped out a bit,” Varric admitted. “Before…”

“It was mostly Prince Vael,” Cassandra corrected precisely. “Between him and the Champion, the sinkholes were fixed, and the Chantry was able to reopen in Hightown. Varric is just unwilling to admit that the Prince of Starkhaven is capable of doing something nice.” Asta and Cullen shifted awkwardly at the reference, aware of Varric‘s ongoing rivalry. “You heard about their marriage,” Cassandra continued, having hit her stride. “The wedding was incredibly romantic, if… untraditional.”

“That’s putting it mildly, considering the amount of fire involved,” Varric muttered. “So where are Sparkler and Tiny, anyway? Didn‘t see them at the manor this morning.”

“Slept in,” Asta’s eyes twinkled. “They’re gearing up for another separation.” Varric groaned and Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Dorian insists he’s going back to Tevinter, to hunt his father’s killer.”

“I don’t know why you’re bothered, you aren’t sharing a house with them,” Cullen pointed out in response to Varric‘s groan and Cassandra‘s subsequent disgusted noise. “The noise…”

“Like you can talk,” Varric countered with a grin. “I can’t wait to meet Emily.” They reached the study and settled down on the furniture. “From your letters she seems like a kick-ass kid.”

“Language, dwarf,” Cassandra corrected, almost by reflex, and Varric actually winced.

“Sorry, Squirt,” he apologized to his daughter, now down on the floor, scooting on her butt, and trying to rock her way onto her knees. “Look at that, Cass. I think… I think she’s going to manage it…” But the baby’s arms gave out, and she ended up flat on her stomach and scowling as she squirmed trying to get her knees and arms back underneath her pudgy tummy. “Next time, Squirt,” Varric comforted her, though she seemed more angry than discouraged, judging by the outraged squall coming from tiny lungs. “You can do it.” He patted her back and she shoved herself up into a sitting position to glare at her father, and then her anger dissipated, and she laughed, and clapped her hands. Varric clapped back, looking more than a little juvenile.

“At least right now she stays where we put her,” Cassandra sighed. “Don’t rush her, Varric. As soon as she crawls we will be running ragged trying to keep her safe. We are exhausted enough.”

“She’s adorable,” Asta murmured, and Varric got a strange gleam in his eye that made her blush. “I can’t believe how big she is already. It didn’t seem like we were in the Imperium for that long…” Her words trailed off into reflection.

“But the Champion got married, and Nadiya was born, and Kirkwall is largely functional,” Cassandra summed up. “We have all been very busy,” she sounded almost prissy. “As have you. Your book is…” the Seeker hesitated.

“Heresy?” Asta challenged her openly.

“Well, yes,” Cassandra confessed, “but also brilliant. I admit I couldn’t find any holes in your argument,” she admitted grudgingly. “Except for what has been accepted traditionally, and of all people, I should know that things are not always what they seem.” Asta relaxed a little, and the discerning Seeker looked offended. “Did you think I would turn you over to the Chantry? You should know better. We are friends, Asta.”

“That’s good to hear,” Asta nearly whispered. “I thought perhaps you would all try to stop its publication. Every person in my inner circle is a better Andrastian than I am, except for perhaps Bull.”

“My editor might,” Varric chuckled. “You should see the letters she‘s been sending me. Now that you’re here we’ll have to schedule a few meetings. Bring Cullen, he can look threatening. But that book has to get out there, Asta. Now as to whether your name is attached…”

“If we publish it anonymously no one will take it seriously,” Asta protested. “It needs my name to give it credence!”

“You have a point,” Varric admitted reluctantly. “But that could mean…”

“We’ll talk about it with the publisher,” Asta cut him off. “I know what is at stake, Varric. Really. You don’t write something like this without knowing that you’re going to end up on the ‘Especially Banned Books List’, and that someone is going to call out the Crows. But I’m not ever going to be content writing travelogues and the next installment of Sister Dorcas’ ‘Walking the Chant’. My friends did what they must in order to survive in the Chantry, to continue their research. I… do not have their restrictions. My career in the Chantry is already over.”

Varric held up his hands, “No one is expecting that, Asta. I just wanted to warn you that you have a fight on your hands.”

“I always have a fight on my hands,” Asta countered, with a wry twist of her lips. “This is at least a different sort of fight.”

***

Asta returned to the house from her reunion with Cassandra considerably later that night, and stood in front of her mirror with her shirt open, glaring at her stomach, freed from the pants that were a little too tight for comfort when laced up.

“It’s not fair,” she announced bitterly to Cullen, inclined nude on the bed, and nearly ready to sleep.

“What isn’t fair?”

“Cassandra didn’t show for months, and is already back in fighting shape. I’m already going…” Asta waved her hand in front, in a circular motion. “Round. I think Varric knows.”

“She was carrying a dwarf’s child,” Cullen pointed out, trying not to smile, and enjoying the curves that were barely perceptible, as well as the slightly larger breasts above them. “Smaller, evidently grows slower, and Cassandra is considerably more… muscular than you.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I thought you weren’t vain?”

“I’m not! But…”

“You’re even more beautiful, love.” Cullen sighed. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to wear that outfit for much longer. That‘s what this is really about, isn‘t it? Your attachment to that jacket and pants? I‘m sure we could have something similar drafted up to accommodate the baby?”

“These are the most comfortable items of clothing that I’ve ever owned. You‘d love them too, if you spent your adult life wearing Chantry robes and leggings,“ Asta defended herself. “I should have a set made for you. You might even give up your cloak,“ she teased. “Before we leave here, I’m going to ask Cassandra for the schematics for those pregnancy pants Dagna drew up for her,” Asta sighed, and ran her hand over the almost non-existent swell. “I should look into a healer,” she said softly, worrying her lip with her upper teeth. “I should see one as soon after the wedding as possible.”

“We should,” Cullen agreed softly, watching her longingly. Asta caught his look out of the corner of her eye and stripped out of the shirt, and detached her hook deftly before removing her undershirt. Her breasts were heavier too, nearly falling out of her breastband and he caught his breath when she made her way to the bed, clad in only her smalls, and openly ogling the lines of his chest and the curve of his pelvis, and the path of hair beneath his navel that led straight down and widened to frame a very erect part of his body.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked him with a purr and a smirk.

“I’m thinking about my beautiful wife,” Cullen offered freely. “And about what’s hiding underneath her clothes.” Asta bit her lip. “And how much I really want to kiss her,” he leaned forward, arms on his knees. “And thank her for doing this for us…”

“How were you going to thank me?” Asta said breathily.

Cullen reached out his hand and touched her stomach lightly, tracing his fingers down to the edge of her smalls, and lower, answering in more than words. “Unless she’s tired?”

“Not tired,” Asta whispered, and pulled his other hand around to hold her lower back. “And very interested.”

“All right,” Cullen smiled briefly, his face lighting up. “Then… lay down? And I’ll…”

“You’ll…” Asta prompted, moving over to sit on the bed, and scooting back eagerly on her arm, leaned back against her elbows.

“I’ll show you,” he laughed, smiling wide, and positioning himself over her body. He bent down and kissed her mouth, where she was suspended, only a trifle wobbly. “Maker, Asta, you’re… lovely,” he whispered against her lips and then bent further down and kissed the just beginning roundness lightly. He shifted sideways and Asta immediately stripped out of her smallclothes and tossed them away. “I wanted to do that,” he complained, and Asta made an impertinent face.

“Move quicker then.”

“No,” he refused with a smirk. “You should be patient.” It had been so long since she hadn’t just fallen asleep abruptly - nearly as soon as her head hit the pillow. He didn’t want to be a bother, but just looking at her was sweet torture, making him ache in the most pleasant of ways.

So he insisted on her patience, drawing out their pleasure for long minutes with his mouth and hands. He laid down with her and curled her leg over his side, meeting her mouth with his, and then dropped down to a nearly too-sensitive breast, nearly swallowing it in his desire to show his gratitude and affection.

Asta was so responsive, it was almost too easy. She shifted at last to sitting above him, and he let her grind there, occasionally bending to meet him so he could catch her lips. She was crying out and he was panting and rutting against her. She rose up all too soon and slid him into her eager body with a wordless, begging noise. He pressed up with his own, not quite stifled moan.

“Cullen, don’t stop,” Asta implored some minutes later, her words matching the cadence of his movements and her own. “Don’t…” then she broke and he felt her waves attempt to pull him under, but he resisted somehow, fighting to keep his composure.

It had been too long.

He shook visibly, losing it entirely when Asta reached down behind them to firmly grasp the base of his cock, rocking back once more with her breasts thrown out. He spent into her with a pulsing groan, resting inside her until he went soft and slid out, with a grumbly complaint on his wife‘s part. Despite her protests Asta glowed above him, brighter by far than her former mark, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly and pulled her down against his chest, still shaking a little with the intensity of his release.

She finally spoke, her voice a little breathless, “I get the impression that you’ve been waiting for that for a while.”

Cullen chuckled, a little embarrassed, “Perhaps you’re right. You’ve been very tired, and I didn’t want to…”

“Cullen,” Asta laughed, “Have I ever thought you were imposing? Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I don’t want…” she shook her head, “Quite the contrary, actually,” she smirked. “Especially since you seem to like my new… curves.”

“I do,” Cullen murmured, and rolled her over sideways. “Knowing you’re carrying our child, all physical… enhancements aside,” he bent down and kissed the side of one slightly larger breast. “I don’t think you’ve ever been so stunning.”

Asta laughed in his face, “If I didn’t know you are terminally sincere, love, I would be asking what you wanted, buttering me up like that.”

“Only you,” Cullen grinned, triumphant. “So I already have everything.”

“That you do,” Asta assured him, with her own heart-stopping smile. “Feel free to 'impose' a little more often? Just try to catch me a little earlier in the evening. Baby doesn‘t seem to like late nights.”

Cullen laughed and kissed her neck. “Shouldn’t be too hard, I imagine.  I'll try to take Pup's preferences into account.”

"We're not calling it 'pup'," Asta muttered, already drowsy.

Cullen only smiled and didn't answer, as there was no point.  Asta was asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone that might have missed the added note in the last chapter, I'm currently trying to do the fic a day in May challenge (though I didn't sign up for it) in an effort to break past my continued insecurity about whether something is good enough to post. Right now I'm posting a short fic called 'Finding Dorian' (and yes, the title sucks, but it's appropriate and has nothing to do with fish), and after that I have a few random one-offs. I definitely have enough little things to get through the first couple of weeks (Finding Dorian is more than a year old in places.) without missing a single day (though I'll probably post twice on Friday and twice on Monday rather than over the weekends). Yay for the school year nearly being over and having more time for hobbies!
> 
> So if you are interested, the first three chapters are out there. It starts out dark, but gets better.
> 
> If I run out of stuff, I'll probably start posting my Society of Rebellious Archivists (name to be announced) fic, 'Light in the Shadows', which is probably ready to launch, but I keep adding more letters to it, because I have no willpower. ;) Also, I worry that something with so many OCs needs a lot more work than anything else. Nearly everyone I've included is either an OC or an NPC, which is a little difficult to juggle. Its a lot more like writing original fiction than fan fiction.
> 
> So keep an eye out, if you're interested! I'll be posting a lot this month, if I stick to it.


	26. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter finally encompasses the end of 'Demands of the Champion'. If you haven't read that, it may not make a whole lot of sense.

“We’re going to have to tell them,” Cullen sighed, when they reconvened back at Bernie’s manor after Varric and Cassandra’s wedding. “Varric has started keeping book. I saw him taking bets after the reception.”

“I’ll have Max steal the details if you want to place an anonymous bet,” Asta offered, looking up at him from her book on the Vael lineage and the history of Starkhaven. “It’d be nice if we could benefit from their nosiness.”

“Don’t you want to tell Cassandra?”

“Sure I do, but I have more than enough people fussing over me already.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you tell them, if you’re bothered by the betting? No reason it has to be me. It’s not just my secret, after all.”

“But they’re your friends…” Cullen started.

Asta sighed, “Cullen, they’re your friends, too. And here we have most of them conveniently in one place, ready for Cassandra to be surprised, Sera to be horrified and disgusted, Varric, Dorian and Bull to be triumphant- all for different reasons, and in Cole’s case, probably mystified, unless his relationship with Maryden has gotten that far. Talking to him at the wedding, I’m pretty sure they’re still just kissing. But tell them, if you’d like. At least then I can openly ask Cass for the clothes schematics and about her midwife or any healers in the area. I‘m actually shocked that Dorian hasn‘t blurted it out already. He spent three hours with Cassandra yesterday afternoon, going over possible Seeker presence in the Imperium, and swears he didn‘t breathe a single word.” She went back to her book. “If we wait much longer someone in the know will spill the beans. It‘ll still probably be Dorian.”

“How would I even…” Cullen started, and then chuckled. “All right. I’ll tell them. Shall we invite everyone to dinner? Get it over with in one fell blow?”

“You would decide that the situation needs punching,” Asta caught his eye and grinned. “Just clear it with Bernie first. It’s her house, after all. Or will be, soon enough. Now, changing the subject, do you think the Vaels still stand on ceremony? Because according to this book, two ages ago the reigning Prince refused to use anything but golden flatware. Brother Sebastian doesn‘t seem like the sort - but I barely know the man, really.”

Cullen merely shrugged, “What do I know about royalty? Sounds plausible to me.”

Asta squinted at the book. “This is the problem with the Kirkwall archives - they’re unorganized and hopelessly out of date. Maker, I miss Skyhold‘s library.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Cullen sighed. “Just a little longer.”

“True enough,” Asta agreed. “What are you wearing to the peacetalks?” Cullen’s face turned sullen. “Don’t give me that, love. You know you have to wear something other than armor and that cloak. Dress uniform, fine, any of your Tevene dress clothes are fine, but…”

“Cassandra’s wore dress armor to her wedding,” pouted Cullen. “Why can’t I do the same to something like this?”

Asta raised a critical eyebrow, “Because you aren’t a bride. It’s not your party.” She relented somewhat, “Fine, I’ll let you wear your normal clothes to the peace talks with Starkhaven, whatever Josie says or how pretentious Starkhaven has the reputation of being. With luck, if Prince Vael is that stuffy, it will put him off-kilter. Maybe it will work to our advantage.”

Cullen beamed. “You’re too good to me, love.”

***

Cullen and Dane stood at the docks, as the ship bound for Jader boarded. “You’re sure you won’t stay?” Cullen asked the dog, trying not to beg.

Dane bowed his head, and bark twice, apologetically.

“Well, of course I understand you don’t want to let her forget you. Long distance relationships are miserable,” Cullen assured him. “But you’ll be missed.”

Dane rolled his eyes and barked once, derisively.

“Nonsense, Pup, er… the baby won’t arrive for months. It’s not exactly the same, you know, and if things go well with Starkhaven we’ll be traveling there first. But we‘ll have plenty of time to get back to Skyhold first.”

Dane grumbled irritably and barked insistently.

“I said I understand,” Cullen argued, “didn’t I? I know you want to see if you stand a chance, and I respect that. I‘d want the same. I don‘t begrudge you your choices. I‘ll just… miss you.”

Dane reared back and put his paws on Cullen’s shoulders, and licked his face once before falling back down.

“All right,” Cullen laughed, wiping his face. “We’ll see you at Skyhold soon enough. Good luck, and all that.”

Dane looked at him critically and barked three times, quickly and emphatically.

“Of course I’ll take care of her,” Cullen looked offended, “It’s my job.” The two males stood and faced each other, silently. “Go on then,” Cullen said at last. “We’ll see you in a few months. Don’t let the captain skimp you on food. I’ve paid for the best for you, and your own berth.”

Dane barked once, softly.

“Safe travels,” Cullen offered, and the dog turned away and padded up the gangway, stopping to bark once and roll his head sideways. “Fine, I won’t stick around,” Cullen grumbled, and turned away. “Bossy mutt.”

***

“Greetings, Inquisitor,” Prince Vael bowed, and then abruptly stood back up. “I…” he squinted a little, trying to place her face. “We have met, before, haven’t we? Besides seeing each other in passing before and after the ceremony, of course. Was it in Ostwick?” He puzzled for a moment before the truth dawned, “Wait… I do know you… _That_ Sister Evelyn? _You’re_ the…” he started to laugh. “I never knew your last name! It was all ‘Brother Sebastian’ and ‘Sister Petrice’.” Hawke made slight gagging noises at the sound of the disgraced Mother’s first name. “I would never have guessed… But I suppose my wife was telling the truth when she said you can’t fight worth a sh... I mean to say…” he rushed to apologize, while Hawke cackled about the near slip of the former brother’s tongue. Sebastian grew a little defensive, “Hawke, how many lies were in that book?! I ought to have Varric… arrested!”

“As if you could,” Hawke smirked back fondly, her snark tapering off in favor of preventing another war . “Do me a favor and don’t antagonize the Viscount? He writes fiction, love, and you know that. We warned you, sort of.”

The Prince sighed in exasperation, and then smiled back affectionately, before his face shifted into looking concerned. “I do humbly beg your pardon, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Asta grinned wryly in forgiveness. “I’ve long since been aware of my shortcomings on the field of battle. And actually, since I lost my arm, we have something almost in common, Prince Vael, besides leaving the Chantry for a secular life.” She lifted her crossbow prosthesis and tilted it. “Normally I would wear one of my other attachments to peace talks, but I thought you might be interested, instead of threatened.” Josie sighed audibly and disapprovingly from behind her. “Was I mistaken?” For a moment Asta was visibly unsure, casting her eyes at Cullen, who shifted his hands towards his sword, as a precaution, if the Prince or Champion did chose to take offense.

“That looks like…” Hawke blinked, breaking the awkward moment. “Varric gave _you_ Bianca? I thought he…”

“Not exactly,” Asta rushed to explain, sensing that Hawke was almost offended. “He gave Bianca to Cassandra, and together they decided to give it to our Arcanist to study. She used it to make me this.” She smiled wider, trying to be open and put both rulers at their ease. “I have to admit, I wondered if you would remember me at all, Brother Sebastian. I was definitely your worst pupil, and I wasn‘t in Kirkwall long, in the scheme of things. I was long gone before the… worst happened.”

“Your poor skills alone would make me remember,” he laughed, and took his wife’s arm and waved her forward into the Keep and out of the eyes of nosy Kirkwallers. “You were all but hopeless. But hopefully we’ll be able to make this a little less awkward than I was expecting, given our prior acquaintance?” He was trying not to look eager, but failing.

“Hmm,” Asta weighed him, and decided to be as honest as Josie, hovering cautiously in the background, would allow her to be. “I don’t know. The Champion has told me about you, and your behavior towards the city of Kirkwall and its inhabitants hasn’t been exactly… upright. You, Prince Vael, have been a disappointment and an utter…” Cullen reached out and took her arm, just as the Ambassador attempted to interrupt with a tactful comment.

Hawke beat them both to it.

“It’s all water under the bridge now,” she said quietly, meeting her eyes with a thinly veiled warning. “Both Kirkwall and Starkhaven have taken great strides towards… reconciliation, Inquisitor, as our presence here indicates.”

“Very well,” Asta sighed, outwardly resigned, but rather satisfied, deep down. “My Ambassador would likely skin me alive if I shared my true thoughts about the invasion.” Josie sighed again, far more critically. “I _was_ pleased to hear of your marriage. It’s nice to see people work out their differences. So few things actually go the way we intend.” She smiled, and turned to introduce Cullen, “You remember my husband, Ser Cullen Rutherford, I suppose? If you remember me, even slightly, you _must_ remember him.” Cullen blushed at her enthusiasm, rubbing the back of his neck, and Hawke rolled her eyes.

“Ser Rutherford,” the Prince bowed formally. “I owe you many thanks for your prompt intervention at the Gallows. I also owe you for allowing us to leave Kirkwall. Feel free to name the favor that allows me to repay you for the lives of myself, my wife and her companions.”

Cullen demurred, face firm. “No favors needed. I regret that I did not allow you to stay. I understand things were difficult for some time, afterward, especially for the Champion.” He sighed, knowing that Josie’s urgings - in the form of a polite clearing of her throat - were only a breath away. “If you feel you owe me thanks, I owe several apologies to the Champion. I said terrible things when first we met, and for some time afterward on a regular basis. I hope we can move past my unfair words and behavior, and work together in the future.” His words didn’t sound too scripted, Asta noted, inordinately pleased, and Josie nodded approvingly in the background, but Hawke squinted, non-committal, with her lips pressed together.

“We’ll see,” she said at last, her mouth twitching, whether defensively or in humor, Asta couldn‘t quite tell. The woman had a Wicked Grace face that she couldn’t read. “I have been hearing… interesting things about you, Ser Cullen. Some things I can scarcely credit.”

They reached the negotiation chambers that Bran had prepared, and the door was opened by a Guardsman. “Are we going right to work then?” Asta expressed surprise. “I thought perhaps we could catch up a bit, before…”

“Absolutely,” Sebastian stuttered, off balance at her protests, “I merely thought that, given Starkhaven’s troubled relationship with the Inquisition, you would want to limit the time you allot to us… you hold the position of power in these proceedings…”

Asta looked at her Ambassador, who shrugged politely, poised to begin taking notes, as usual, and Asta dropped her mask as the Guard closed the door behind them and took up residence on the other side. “Prince Vael,” Asta began formally, and then gave up trying to maintain a professional demeanor, recognizing it - finally - as a lost cause. “I’m here because I think you’re doing wonderful things with the College of Enchanters. For the Maker’s sake, perhaps literally, you’ve got to let me into Starkhaven.” She led the way into the room and plopped down unceremoniously in a chair, and Cullen followed her, to stand behind her, as on guard as if he were still at the Gallows. “Relax, love,” she whispered and he chuckled slightly, realizing what he had just done, and unbent enough to slip into a chair next to her. “I don’t think I’m in danger of assassination at the moment.” She raised an eyebrow at the pair of rulers in front of her. “We just got back from the Imperium, and there was an attempt on my life. Well, a few dozen, if you ask my brother, but one in particular stands out for me. Cullen is still a little… keyed up. Especially since his Mabari is opting to travel back to Skyhold to court a mate instead of traveling with us, and I‘m…”

Hawke grinned, interrupting, “You have a Mabari?! I always knew you had it in you, Curly! You really have changed!” She slapped Cullen’s back and went across to the other side of the table, where she sat with her elbows on the table. “Dog died of old age, you know, nine months after the Chantry went up. You remember Dog, of course?”

“How could I forget?” Cullen asked drily. “Didn’t you order him to pee on my leg once, at the Wounded Coast?” Hawke looked nostalgic.

“So I did! One of his best tricks,” she sounded wistful. “I never got a chance to have him wee on Meredith. Got Alrik quite a few times, though. Bastard deserved it. Good times.”

“Quite,” Cullen managed with a twitching mouth. “I admit to great amusement when you’d visit me, looking for work, and your Dog would immediately track him down to mark his ‘territory‘. Maker, I hated that asshole.” His face fell a little bit, remembering why. “That was one of the few brighter memories I have of the Gallows.”

However Sebastian’s face had lit up with eagerness, “Are the puppies all spoken for ? I know Hawke would love… she misses Dog so much.” Hawke’s face softened at his implied gift.

“You know Mabari,” Cullen smiled slightly apologetically, “They tend to choose their own owners. But if either of you would like an opportunity, I would be honored to provide one, assuming Dane gets his way, and the bitch in question is favorable. I‘m hoping that Kennelmaster Hermes will send word.”

Josie coughed slightly in a subtle attempt to put the conversation back on track.

“Josie, I think at least for now you aren’t needed in a formal capacity,” Asta said swiftly. “If you’d like to pull up a seat, I’ll introduce you less formally.”

“Inquisitor,” Josie stated firmly, “We are not here to talk about _dogs_.”

“We are here to mend relations between Starkhaven and the Inquisition,” Asta stated firmly. “This will go far in doing just that. We need to let the Fereldans talk about their Mabari, Prince Vael and I need to get ourselves on a first name basis, and you need to use your uncanny skills of observation to understand exactly what we can offer each other. You’re not going to find that over the normal negotiating table, Josie. Not with the history of strained feelings that surround us. Cullen and Hawke alone have years of bitterness to sort out. The gift of a Mabari puppy between two Fereldans could go far to do just that.” Josie nodded thoughtfully, if a trifle reluctantly. “In a way, this is worse than you negotiating peace between Orlais and Ferelden - Alistair and Celene had no personal offenses between them.”

“Very well, Inquisitor,” she set her pen and desk down gently, and held out her hand. “I have met the Princess-Consort before, of course, during her time at Skyhold. Allow me to offer my congratulations on your recent marriage in person.”

Hawke rolled her eyes at Sebastian. “And you said it wouldn’t be confusing,” she muttered. “Champion, or Hawke, please, Ambassador Montilyet,” she corrected. “I’m only a Princess when they make me.” The Ambassador blinked, but nodded. “I’m just here to protect ‘Bastian from the big bad Inquisitor, her nasty Ambassador, and pet Templar in any case,” she claimed with a teasing smirk. “Don’t include me in the politics, please.” Her husband frowned at her slightly, and she slapped his leg under the table before he could open his mouth. Asta swallowed to stop herself from smiling. “Bluntly, I suck at this sort of thing. I fucked up everything for _years_ in Kirkwall. Varric is only just starting to get it back in order, after the Inquisition sorted most of the mess out.”

“Then call me Josephine,” she replied elegantly, ignoring her language entirely. “Josephine Montilyet, your Highness,” she curtseyed to the Prince.

“Please,” he smiled, “at least while we are being informal, call me Sebastian? You are possibly the scariest woman alive in Thedas today, Ambassador Montilyet, and it would honor me to get to know you better. You are the kind of woman I need on my side instead of against me. Please, have a seat?”

Josie fluttered a little bit, flattered, “Very well,” she managed, and settled into a chair with a grace that few of the actual people in charge possessed.

They stared at everything in the room except for each other for a moment, the awkwardness threatening to drown them all, until Asta nudged Cullen. “Hawke, would you be interested in knowing about the kennel that Cullen visited in Tevinter? They were attempting to rebreed the Mabari line.”

“Really?” Hawke was fascinated and horrified. “That would give them a Mabari army…”

“Oh, it’s not happening any longer,” Cullen smiled with triumph. “We smuggled out their Kennelmaster and the best of his dogs, and he works for the Inquisition now at Skyhold. Dane’s potential mate is one of them. Tevinter is gearing up for a civil war anyway, and it was better to get them out of the line of fire, as it were. It‘s an inferior strain…” he started to explain, sounding very condescending.

“Not according to Dane,” Asta contradicted.

“Well, Dane is biased,” Cullen argued, eyebrows bent in, the argument obviously familiar. “But by careful breeding, I think it will ultimately enhance the Fereldan breed,” he finished. “They are bound to be hardier - they have longer fur and tend to a layer of fat that the original breed lacks. Perfect for the Frostbacks, if it breeds true. If the Mabari have a weakness, it‘s their lack of cold resistance.” Hawke nodded thoughtfully. “Their coat sheds rain beautifully, though. I couldn’t believe how dry Dane stayed while I was at the Storm Coast.”

“You believe war in Tevinter is inevitable?” Sebastian turned to Asta focusing on the key point, his eyes worried. “That puts Starkhaven at great risk.”

“You’ve set yourselves up to be well-protected,” Asta complimented him. “But the Inquisition would be happy to render assistance, if you need it. With the work you are doing with the College I imagine it may not be necessary…”

  
Sebastian shook his head, “I merely allowed them to stay,” he explained, “any further work is my wife’s doing. She cannot join the College, as she hasn’t been Harrowed, but they are allowing her to train those of a military inclination.”

Asta leaned forward eagerly towards Hawke and her Prince, “Are they really? That’s wonderful news! Is your Council involved? Would they be willing to help protect their home if Tevinter invades? Could…” Josie coughed slightly and Asta laughed and leaned back. “Sorry, I tend to get…excited and ask too many questions,” she claimed. “But the possibilities! The first line of defense if the civil war goes outside the borders could be mage against mage!”

Cullen frowned, “That’s…” he started, just as Hawke spoke up.

“How is that a good thing?” Her voice was harsh, her eyes bitter. “Haven’t you seen enough Mage wars? I know I have.”

Asta shook her head, realizing that she was going to have to explain herself. “The Seekers are barely beginning to rebuild,” she stated bluntly. “The Templars are largely gone, with few exceptions, and many of them are trying to wean themselves off lyrium entirely. It’s not ideal, the defenses we have against the Imperium‘s military - their magical troops as well as the more usual infantry are probably the best in Thedas, with the possible exception of our own soldiers. I wouldn’t want to go up against them with a purely mundane army. To hear that there are mages training in military tactics so close to the Imperium, _separate_ from the Inquisition, reassures me greatly. We just got back from Minrathous, and I assure you, that if it were to come to war, without the Inquisition’s army at full strength to defend, we would be run over in a matter of years. Bloody, horrible years with too much death. I, and eventually my successor, are going to be spending a great deal of time preparing us for the threat. Nevarra cannot be counted on, because Markus is going to go any day. Any treaties with him will likely expire with him, and then again with his brother, assuming either of them is actually still mentally sound enough to rule. Unlikely, if you ask me - the question is who is actually pulling the strings behind the Nevarran curtain. Rivain’s ties are too close with the Qun, and the Inquisition quite thoroughly burned its bridges there, though I have to try.” Asta sighed, suddenly tired, “I always have to try.”

Josie had started scribbling madly.

Sebastian frowned, reading between the lines. “You’re asking us if we’ll fight.”

“Nevarra will be the first to go,” Asta assured him, seriously, the map scrolling behind her eyes, shadowed with the knowledge that she was right. “Tevinter will cross the Minanter River and take Nevarra City and then Cumberland, counting on Orlais to be weak under Celene, who has no heir, marching southwest on the Highway. Hopefully they wouldn’t cross the Minanter to reach Starkhaven , but… we can’t count on that possibility. Kirkwall’s mountains shield them from the advancing armies somewhat, but the rest of the Marches, with perhaps the exception of Ostwick, are at great risk. If we could ally with the rest of the Free Marches as well…” her words trailed off. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” she sighed. “I hadn’t meant to bring this up so soon.”

“Better dust off that armor, my Champion,” Sebastian said softly to his wife. “You’re going to be needed.” Louder, he announced, “We’ll assist, of course, we’ll have to work out the details, but Starkhaven knows better than to ally with Tevinter. We’ve been stabbed in the back before.” He leaned forward, “What about Ferelden? Are they willing to offer support despite not being in the direct line of attack?”

“We’re working on it?” Asta volunteered weakly. “We’ve done a lot for them, bluntly, but as a… friend of mine once said, ’human memories are short’.” She sighed. “King Alistair is a good man, and he’s a strong king. But Arl Teagan holds grudges and too much influence in the King‘s Court. If the Queen came back... then perhaps she could persuade…” She pressed her lips together, cutting off the line of thought. “Empress Celene is a strong leader as well, but she’s dealing with unrest from her nobles about her stance towards the Dales. And Fen’Harel, who could possibly bring most elves under his banner…” Asta huffed irritably, “He’s an unknown,” she scowled. “Working towards his own plans,” she grumbled. “I could be wrong about the whole war, if he’s planning what I think he is. If he gets there first, we‘re all going to be dead.”

“Fen’Harel,” Sebastian said quietly, his eyes wide as he glanced at his wife, who shook her head, startled. “Hawke?”

“Maker’s Mercy, you hadn’t heard?” Asta rubbed her forehead, misunderstanding. “About my arm?” She looked at Josie, who frowned at the knowledge of the sovereign‘s ignorance. “Andraste‘s Ass,” she muttered. “I hate racism. And theism. And possibly all the ’isms.”

Cullen broke in, driving right to the point. “My wife’s former companion, the mage Solas, is Fen’Harel.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows, “I knew that. Met him in a dream once, and remembered him from Adamant, the weird fucker. He likes Kirkwall‘s side of the Veil lately - with all the Hope spirits he‘s been finding here it’s a pretty attractive place. Merrill‘s been corresponding with him. You remember Merrill, Ser Cullen? Short, brunette elf? Or maybe I only need to mention that she was a blood mage for you to place her?”

It was Cullen’s turn to roll his eyes at her taunts.

Asta’s eyes had gone wide, ignoring Hawke’s attempts at baiting her husband, “Why didn’t Varric and Cassandra tell me Merrill was in contact with him?!”

Hawke shrugged, “They told me that they were trusting that she would make the right decision. I’m doing the same. She’s not a member of the Inquisition, she’s a friend. Forgive me for not trusting that you wouldn‘t throw her into Skyhold‘s prison to get her to talk. You’re the Inquisition, and she’s a blood mage. I may have helped you out of the kindness of my heart and residual feelings of guilt, but I‘m not going to toss my friends under a wagon.”

Asta sighed, and closed her eyes. “You’re right, of course. I… I will think about what to do, but I assure you, I will not let anyone harm her in the meantime. Thank you.” Hawke looked slightly surprised at her easy promises, weighing her carefully. “Would you like that in writing?” Asta asked, irked and already fatigued. “Josie, would you…”

“No, of course not,” Sebastian cast wary eyes at his wife. “Hawke, these are your allies,” he reminded her. “And the Inquisitor is a known mage sympathizer.”

“Yes, well, forgive me for being cautious,” Hawke seemed on the verge of rebellion before she relaxed. “Damn, I need a drink.”

“No you don’t,” Sebastian replied, almost by rote. “But we could ring for refreshments, since things are a bit… tense?” Josie rose and took care of the request eagerly.

A short break later, Cullen chuckled, remembering. “Hawke, you mentioned Hope in the Fade… is that why I’ve been sleeping so well, and dreaming about singing?”

Hawke stared at him, surprised. “Cullen… you can hear them? Enough to remember?”

“It’s better than my usual dreams, which would be enough to make it memorable,” Cullen assured her. “The last time I was here I didn’t sleep for days. The first few days, I thought I was dreaming about the lyrium song, but I realized later it was something entirely different. When I dream about lyrium, I don‘t wake up… happy.” He blushed, looking at Asta, “and I’ve been happy since I got here, this time. I thought it was a coincidence, or related to… something else.” He turned considerably redder, and his smile grew slightly goofy.

Asta shook her head, attempting to ignore him, lest she start blushing herself. “I swear, Varric named the book the right thing after all. All this shit is definitely weird.”

Hawke sighed in agreement, “I’ve outrun a Blight with the help of a fucking dragon, released and then dealt with Corypheus the first time, traveled the length and breadth of Thedas making and trying to fix my own mistakes, watched a friend blow up a city I love, learned my beloved, normally upright father resorted to blood magic at least once in his life, and entered the Fade physically to discover a massive Nightmare demon in residence. Learning that an Elvhen god is alive and well amongst us and hatching dubious plots? Hardly even makes my ‘shit is weird’ list,” she leaned forward. “So how can we help with the latest influx of strange and bizarre?”

Asta blinked in surprise at her rapid agreement, given their earlier tension, and sat back. “This is going… Josie? Do you want to take over before I screw this up?”

“You are doing splendidly,” Josie beamed. “I hardly think I’m necessary, beyond my skills as a scribe. I have a few suggestions to improve relations, but otherwise, pray, Inquisitor, continue!”

Asta looked at her husband, who shrugged, apparently clueless about how to proceed, as his talents lay in other areas. “Sorry, love, there‘s nothing here to attack or lay siege to. Thank the Maker.” Hawke openly chuckled.

Asta sighed, exasperated, “All right then, Cullen and I want to visit Starkhaven. As soon as possible.”

“Consider the invitation extended on one condition,” Sebastian hesitated, and then pushed on, “I want to read your book. An advance copy, if you please.”

Josie’s mouth opened, and even her pen stopped scratching for a moment as she lifted her eyes from her paper to refocus on the Prince of Starkhaven.

“You want to read my… book?” Asta asked in a very small voice. “Really? _You?_ Choir Boy? You know what it‘s about, don‘t you?”

“I do,” Sebastian looked determined. “I know that Starkhaven has a… reputation for conservatism. But Varric shared your theories, or the basis of them at least, and I need to read the whole thing.” Hawke squeezed his leg under the table. “Please.”

“I can promise that you will have one of the advance copies,” Asta said, humbled, and even more softly, nodding to Josie to make the note. “I’ve met with the editor once already, and anticipate publication sometime next spring, assuming things stay on schedule. That’s a large assumption, with the life I lead, but is that soon enough?”

Sebastian smiled wide, “How large a group should we expect? I‘ll need to prepare my Keep for illustrious guests.”

Asta turned to her Ambassador, “Can you be spared, Josie?”

“Of course,” she accepted happily. “It’s been years since I’ve been to Starkhaven. I would love to return. I have the loveliest memories of the area down by the river. Lovely for horseback riding.”

Cullen murmured in his wife’s ear, concerned, and she sighed, “I’ll have to get back to you on the size of the group. It depends who is available…”

“Of course,” Sebastian assured her. “Just let me know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mage Hawke would totally have trained her Dog to wee on Templars. Or at least mine would. ;)


	27. Revelations

The noise from within the manor was leaking into the street, laughter and high-pitched voices accompanying the deeper rumbles of larger people. Obviously, there was a party going on within.

The two Tevinter mages stood before the house in Hightown, the older woman frowning doubtfully around her, and the younger man, obviously related to her by blood, smiling at what he heard. “Are you sure this is the address?” The lady asked, a little dismayed. “I wasn’t expecting Kirkwall to be so… run down, despite the recent… troubles.”

“I’m sure, Mother,” Petri assured her. “Pavus’ last letter was clear. Shall we knock?”

“By all means,” the woman cracked a nervous smile. “I’m longing to meet this Inquisitor of yours.”

“She’s not mine, Mother,” Petri frowned, “Please, try not to embarrass me? The situation is awkward enough already.”

“Of course not,” Lady Cerastes patted his shoulder. “But you’ve been single too long, Petri. It‘s about time you settled down, and outside of the Imperium there might be choices we haven‘t considered…”

“Mother, please don’t…” Petri raked his fingers through his hair.  "Please, drop it?"

“I won’t breathe a word,” the older woman smiled with combined calculation and fondness. “Unless it comes up.”

Petri knocked lightly, casting a last warning look back, and a series of several audible thumps came from the other side of the door, “I’VE GOT IT I SAID!” Bernie announced at the level of his waist, throwing the words behind her towards the main room. “I’m so sorry, Serah,” she apologized at once. “I was expecting… I’m the lady of the house, Bernadette Garvil-Tethras, at your service,” she bowed. “May I… help you?” She eyed their staffs and clothing openly. “Shit, what has he done? MAX! THERE ARE TWO FUCKING ‘VINT MAGES AT THE DOOR! What the fuck have you done now?!”

“NOTHING!” he yelled back. “I swear to the Maker, Bernie…” he appeared around the corner, looking better fed and far more relaxed. “Oh! You made it!”

“You must be the Inquisitor’s future sister in law,” Petri’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Bernie smiled in return, relaxing when she realized he wasn't here for Max. “I’m Arch... Petrinius Cerastes. I am so sorry to intrude upon your celebration, but Magister Pavus was expecting me…”

Dorian poked his head around the corner of the room, already scolding, “Bernadette, the pot is light, and it‘s your turn…” His double take was epic, “Petri! You made it! Took you long enough. I was talking to... Bull just last night about whether we should send somebody to rescue you!”

“Pavus,” Petri bowed, “It took me a while to… pack, and I had to make a slight detour back home.” Dorian took in the stately woman, tall, with silver-streaked dark hair and spectacles, behind him, and had to adjust his face abruptly, to one more respectful than teasing. “May I introduce my mother, Lady Miranda Cerastes of Marnas Pell?”

“Charmed,” Dorian exited the house, and kissed her hand. “Your work with Sister Petrine was inspired, milady. I cannot tell you how much I enjoy The Ancient North. All of the history and none of the bias towards or against the Imperium. A masterwork of balance.”

“Thank you,” she replied softly. “It’s a delight to meet one of the leaders of the Lucerni, Magister Pavus. You truly are a lamp for our country. I hope we will have an opportunity to drink to knowledge?”

Dorian’s face lit up, “And to fact, as well,” he tucked her arm in his. “Please, come with me, and let me introduce to you to my dear Amica.” Bernie led the way back into the room, and Petri hesitated. “Come along, Petri. It’s not Asta’s house, not anymore. Max’s marriage contract was made final two days ago, and Asta and Cullen are preparing their trip to Starkhaven. Contracts are binding for dwarves, they don‘t have to make formal vows, and Max and Bernie weren‘t at all inclined to doing something in the Chantry. So we‘re celebrating, since Bernie‘s parents left today for home. It might be everyone‘s last chance for Wicked Grace before we all go our separate ways again. You aren‘t imposing, I assure you. The more the merrier.”

“It’s not that,” the archivist hesitated, “It’s just… I have a lot of… luggage. Is there someone who could perhaps assist our people in moving it to a safe location? Some of it is… valuable.”

Dorian released Lady Cerastes’ arm and strolled out to the street. Five wagons full of crates stood, with their drivers and a few armed guards. “Petri, what on Thedas have you done?” His face was awed.

The Lady Cerastes smiled proudly, “My son has a gift for the Inquisitor,” she announced, with a sparkle in her eye that the torches picked up.

“Divine Galatea‘s Holy Sunday Shit,” Varric’s face was a wonder as he stepped out to see what was keeping all of them. “I take it this is a surprise?” He eyed the archivist, and then grinned. “All right, Dorian, I have to meet this guy. Anyone that comes bearing gifts by the wagonful… well, I like him already. Do the honors?”

“Viscount Varric Tethras of Kirkwall, this is my… friend, Petrinius Cerastes, most recently Head Archivist of the Minrathous library, and his mother, the Lady Miranda Cerastes of Marnas Pell.” Dorian sounded slightly surprised at the admission of friendship.

“I no longer can claim that title,” Petri admitted sheepishly, “And I’m no longer of the Imperium either, I’m afraid. My mother and I are… refugees, of a sort, I fear. You and the Inquisitor are not the only ones good at burning bridges, Pavus.” Petri sighed, “You might even say we’re officially on the run from the authorities.”

“What did you do?” Dorian asked, even more awed.

Asta emerged from the house at last, her face flushed from laughter, “Dorian, I swear I heard…” Cullen was one step behind her, already short his cloak and gloves from the game of Wicked Grace. “Petri?! You made it!” She saw the wagons and her enthusiasm turned to confusion. “But what…”

“Mother,” Petri announced, straightening ever so slightly, “May I introduce the Lady Inquisitor Asta Rutherford of Skyhold. Inquisitor, this is my mother, Lady Miranda Cerastes. She insisted on accompanying me when I… left the Imperium. Permanently.”

“Petri doesn’t have enough sense to wear a cloak when it rains, much less escape the Archon’s reach without coming to a bad end. Comes of being the indulged youngest child, I‘m afraid,” the Lady smiled fondly. “It’s an honor, Inquisitor.”

“Petri, it’s lovely to see you, don’t get me wrong, but what is with all the crates?” Asta waved at the wagons. “I wouldn’t have thought that you would travel this heavy… even Dorian doesn‘t travel with this much luggage.” Dorian frowned, and Cullen smirked. “Especially not lately.”

Petri smiled nervously, “I’m afraid I’ve been rather… dishonest, Inquisitor. I have a few additions for the library at Skyhold. Namely, most of the rarest parts of the Evanuris collection. And anything that I thought would be helpful and wasn‘t being used by other scholars. I‘m afraid I… stole them.” Dorian and Varric’s laughter echoed through the streets and ricocheted off the buildings.  But Asta’s mouth opened, her ears roared, and her knees buckled, Cullen catching her just in time to prevent her head from hitting the pavement.

***

She came back to herself slowly, blinking against the now dim light in Bernie’s parlor, Wicked Grace cards still scattered around the table. “Cullen, did I dream that Petri showed up with the Minrathous Library’s Evanuris collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” her husband admitted. “Petri is here, and brought the bulk of the rarest scrolls in the Minrathous Library, and his blighted _mother_ to you, thinking to be helpful, probably trailing assassins right to your door. Varric is supervising the removal of the crates to the Keep‘s vault, until Petri can arrange their shipment to Skyhold. That bastard of an archivist claims it was too important that you finish your research to leave them behind.” Asta tried to shake her head, and then to sit up, her head still spinning. Cullen helped her slowly. “Take it easy, Asta. You fainted and…”

“You caught me,” she finished for him and grinned, “I always wanted to have a handsome knight catch me if I fainted. Lucky me.” Cullen frowned with worry.

“Our news is out, I’m afraid,” he broke to her softly. “Varric insisted on sending for a healer, and the healer asked straight out if you were pregnant. I couldn’t deny it, not with you incapacitated. Apparently Hawke won the bet, Varric is announcing to all and sundry that he knew it all along, and Cassandra is disgusted since,” Cullen looked mildly upset, pressing his lips together in displeasure, “her husband is now taking bets on the gender.”

“It’s all right, Cullen,” Asta laughed, a little short of breath. “We were going to tell everyone tonight anyway. This is more… dramatic, but has the same result. Where is everyone? I want to talk…” she moved to lift herself off the couch and rejoin the rest of the group. “I want to talk to everyone.”

“You are supposed to rest,” Cullen argued. “Healer’s orders. They’ll all be by tomorrow. Cassandra is especially excited to compare notes, apparently. She said she would bring Nadiya, as you will need,” Cullen cleared his throat, his happiness slowly overcoming the worry shining in his smile and eyes, “practice.”

“I’m fine,” Asta protested. “It was just a shock…” Cullen determined look broke her words off before she could finish. “All right, help me upstairs,” she finished instead of arguing, unable to deny that her head was still spinning. He lifted her into his arms. “You don’t have to carry me, Cullen. I can walk. But damn it, I was winning! This really isn’t fair.”

“There will be other games, Inquisitor,” Cullen tightened his arms. “Tonight, you are under healer’s orders to rest. The midwife will be by tomorrow. I suspect you will have a lot of company, come the morning.”

***

The midwife was critical, “I would say you are at least three months along, Inquisitor, by the size of your womb,” she sighed, irritated. “And you’re only seeing a healer now?”

Asta shrugged, “Given my position and circumstances, I couldn’t just see any healer,” she tried to justify. “We were... in a hurry, and family matters interfered upon our arrival. I was going to visit a healer soon…”

“You’re underweight,” the healer broke into her excuses. “You need to eat, drink and rest more.”

Asta thinned her lips, and glared, bracing her arm across her chest. “Excuse me, I think I look fine…”

“It’s not a matter of how you look,” the healer completed her exam. “The baby is healthy, and everything seems to be in order, but you need to eat more. How much have you been vomiting?”

“Not at all for the last week,” Cullen betrayed her eagerly. “But before that it was every time she hadn’t eaten in a while. I was trying to get her to keep something with her, but she is incredibly…”

The midwife smiled at him indulgently, “You are a kind man and a good husband. She needs to be less stubborn and listen to you.” Asta snorted unbecomingly, while Cullen nodded approvingly. “You’ll likely be fine,” the midwife concluded. “The child’s heartbeat is strong, and you should start feeling kicks in a few weeks.” She packed up her things slowly. “It takes longer with a first pregnancy.”

“Should she be traveling to Starkhaven?” Cullen prompted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Travel shouldn’t be a problem at this stage, though I would suggest taking it slow,” the midwife shrugged. “Honestly, I think the Inquisitor will do as she likes in any case, but maybe you can get her to take my advice. Her and the Viscountess seem to be cut from the same stubborn cloth. I had to threaten to tie our Lady Seeker to her bed before she would put her feet up occasionally. Maker preserve me from stubborn new mothers.” She glared again at Asta, “And see another midwife or healer when you get to Starkhaven. They have mages there, I’ve heard, and with luck, you can find one that will take you on for your time in the city. They can do all sorts of tricks that I can’t, obviously. I understand that you are in a position of power, that other people need you, but you are also a mother. No one can take care of your child right now but _you_. And that means taking care of yourself.” She tossed a pamphlet at her,  Healthy Food Options for New Mothers. “Read this, and follow instructions.”

The door shut behind her shortly afterward, and Asta scowled at the pamphlet, resisting the urge to crumple it in her fist. “I know all of this,” she argued to the closed door. “And I’m trying. You… harpy.”

Cullen frowned, “It’s good advice, Asta.”

“You would think so,” Asta grumbled. “Since she agreed with you. Don’t you think that reuniting the Free Marches and discovering Fen’Harel’s ultimate plans is a little more important than how often and what I eat?”

“No,” Cullen said softly, “It’s not. Asta, if something happens to either of you…”

“Oh, I’ll listen,” Asta sighed. “I do know when to listen to a healer, however much I complain. In the meantime, I’ll eat. At least Starkhaven is known for its food?” She pulled her pants back on, and failed to make them meet across her stomach without showing skin. “Damn. Hand me a skirt? I hope Cass brings those schematics with her.” Her face lit up, “And maybe I can find out who made her armor.”

***

Cassandra’s visit was brief, full of scolding and dirty diapers, and a strange energy and excitement that was strangely foreign to what Asta would normally associate with the Seeker. But Sera, who arrived just as Cassandra was packing up Nadiya’s things, started nearly silently, punctuated by “Wow,” and “Found yourself a hole for a jackboot to fill after all, eh?” and rude dick jokes, once the elf had warmed up a bit to the situation, realizing that Asta hadn’t changed, just because she was going to have a baby. “I wouldn’t wanna do… that, babies _smell,_ but it’s doing awesome things to your tits. That make it worth it? Bet Cully-Wully thinks so.” The elf smirked at him, but Cullen merely smiled, and accepted her oddly phrased congratulations.

He agreed with Sera. It was doing wonderful things to her breasts. He told her so, and Asta giggled and whacked his arm playfully before Cole and Maryden came in as Sera was leaving, nearly shyly. “Inquisitor, I offer you my sincerest congratulations,” the bard began to proclaim, before Cole frowned at her.

“You don’t have to talk like that, you aren’t performing here. And Asta’s not scary, Maryden.”

The bard was embarrassed, but the next time she spoke it was far more normally. Cole smiled at her in approval. Cole wasn’t confused by Asta‘s condition in the least, and Cullen reminded himself it wasn’t his business at all what the had-been spirit got up to in his personal life. He was a grown man, if still a little… odd, and obviously Maryden both admired and respected him.

They were working it out. None of his business.

And at least neither he or Asta had to give a former spirit the talk about the nugs and bees.

Cole was quietly congratulatory, and gave her a simple hug before leaving, telling her to take care. Asta fidgeted afterward, restless after her day of mostly sitting still and receiving guests.

Sebastian and Hawke were polite, and stayed only long enough to wish her well, given their only slight acquaintance, but by the end of their visit Asta was nearly twitching. “How many more?” She demanded of Cullen, “Josie knew. Thom is still in Orlais, and Vivienne is on some mission for…” and then the announcement came.

“Her Holiness, Divine Victoria,” Bernie’s footman announced, and stepped aside to admit the woman in question, alone, but in her full regalia.

Asta went so white that Cullen rushed to her side, thinking she was going to faint again. “You have a lot of nerve, Leliana,” Cullen gritted his teeth, trying to pay attention to his wife.  They had both managed to avoid her during the wedding and reception afterward, and the Divine had given them their space.

“I’ve been told that before,” the Divine seemed unsure now that the door was closed. “I came to offer my congratulations, and to let you know that I’m lifting your exile.”

The words fell like a jar of bees, shattering and buzzing into the room. “Why?” Asta managed at last.

“Because I can,” Leliana looked at them both individually, and then together. “You both look well, despite everything I've been hearing.”

“I’m doing the Chantry no more favors,” Asta cut her off.

“I don’t need a favor,” Leliana sighed. “I’m giving a gift to two people I still consider my friends. My understanding is that you want to settle in South Reach, build a home near your family. This will make that possible sooner than otherwise.”

“What is your game?” Asta narrowed her eyes in calculation. “I won’t be used, Leliana. I can‘t be bought, not even for this price.”

“I have no ulterior motive,” Leliana argued, unoffended. “I signed the decree yesterday, as soon as I heard the news from Varric. I’m traveling through the Free Marches, starting tomorrow, speaking about my reforms. And I thought, before I left, that I would make your life easier for once, instead of more complicated. You mean to travel back to Skyhold for the birth, yes?”

“I don’t believe you,” Asta countered, without answering any of her questions. “Your help has a price. There‘s always a price when someone helps you.”

“I think you’re confusing me with someone else,” Leliana met her eyes solemnly. “The Chantry is a charitable institution, Inquisitor.”

“What do you know about Solas?” Cullen immediately demanded, seeing where she was headed.

“Now you want me to share information?” Rather than being insulted, Leliana seemed amused. “When you refuse to answer my simple questions about your future plans?”

Asta held out her good arm to place a quelling hand on Cullen. “I’m not due for several months. Our plans are still in flux. But yes, we are trying to buy land in South Reach, to be near Cullen’s family.” Her chin thrust up stubbornly, “But there’s still a price, whether it is named by the Chantry or otherwise.”

“I would say that you have paid any price I could name in full.” Leliana rose. “But if that’s truly how you feel, I will take my leave. Please…” she stopped herself from what Asta thought might have been a plea. “If you have questions, please write to me,” she finished after a significant pause. “I would like to help you. I have contacts that might be able to help you.” Her eyes swept back up from the pattern on the Dwarven rug where they had been resting. “I hope you can believe me. And again, congratulations.”

And she was gone, the door barely shutting before Asta was cursing up a storm. “That… bitch. I should have picked Cassandra, Varric or no Varric. I should have picked _Vivienne_. Anyone would have been better than that… twisty, _murdering,_ former Left Hand.”

Cullen was still staring at the door. “Asta, we should…”

“No,” Asta refused. “No, Cullen. I won’t work with the Chantry. Not ever again. You can’t ask that of me! Not after everything I’ve given them!”

And Cullen dropped the subject. “You’re right, of course. Forget I said anything.”

***

The Black Emporium was dingy and dark, and the proprietor gave Cullen the creeps as Asta flitted from object to object inquiring about prices and attempting to barter. “Look at this!” She stared at the Mirror of Transformation, watching her own reflection change to match her whims. “It looks like an Eluvian…” a small skinny urchin darted around the edges of the room, with moistened towelettes for his master, and giving the handful of customers a very wide berth. The boardwalk creaked under Cullen’s feet as he made his way to an antiquated book in a corner, alone on its stand, simultaneously fascinated and slightly repulsed by what he saw all around him.

It felt like being a young Templar recruit again, surrounded by the mystical and arcane in Kinloch Hold, all of it completely foreign. It wasn’t a good feeling.

Varric saw him move towards the book in question and grinned, “Hey, that weird book is still here! Hawke, you see this? That Compendium!”

“Oh, I remember that creepy thing,” Hawke shuddered, as Cullen opened it, confused at the odd writing, apparently a cipher. “I don’t want to look.”

“An odd book?” Asta bounced back around the corner and looked awed, and then smirked, apparently at the cipher, “Oh, that’s not even hard.” Cullen frowned at the picture before him, of a small Rivaini girl, looking too serious with tangled dark curls and long-lashed blue-brown eyes. “Though what ’She’s there’ is supposed to mean…” her words trailed off. “What on Thedas…”

Cullen backed away from a newly emerging picture. “What…” A picture of himself, standing in front of a ruined Circle tower looking up at it with a far too serious face, appeared. “Who… where is that?”

Asta read the caption beneath the picture, reversing the letters and words easily. “’It’s always the Chantry’? What is that supposed to mean? Cullen, why are you appearing in this book?”

“And that’s the Emergent Compendium,” Hawke cackled, a little too amused by their disconcerted expressions. “We spent hours trying to figure out why it would have shown us the infidelity of some random guy’s wife, until we discovered that the lady was newly deceased, leaving him to raise the child as his own. She was killed by blood mages, naturally. Cullen, I thought you were a virgin before the Inquisitor took you in hand. Sure you don’t have a little bastard running around? Maybe the book specializes in that sort of thing?”

“Absolutely not,” Cullen growled, insulted, but trying not to lose his temper, knowing that the mage was trying to get a rise out of him. Asta took his arm and he calmed a bit. “That looks like a Circle Tower, but it isn’t Kinloch, Inquisitor.” Asta squeezed his arm.

“It’s not Ostwick, and I haven‘t visited any others,” Asta murmured, concerned, but not about him. “Strange book. Could be useful. Xenon, how much for the Emergent Compendium?”

“It’s not for sale,” the gravely voice wheezed. “It’s one of the few things that amuses me anymore. But I can offer you a sample of the pickled apples of Arlathan, if you’d be interested…” his laugh broke up into coughing gasps. “They come highly recommended by Brother Genitivi…”

Asta looked regretful. “Are you sure that you wouldn’t part with it? The Inquisition can offer more than me personally…” her attempted negotiations went on for a little while and Cullen took another step forward, flipping backward and forward in the book searching for the child again, but only finding a few random faces that he didn’t recognize, and then paused, seeing his wife boarding a vessel. “Asta,” he nodded at it. “Look…”

Asta’s eyebrows raised, but refused to decipher the caption aloud. “Nevermind,” she said, shaken more with the appearance of her own picture and the words beneath than that of her husband. “I don’t think I want to know after all. I thought perhaps it would show us Solas… but I’d rather not know my own fate.”

The man on the throne wheezed his approval, “Very… wise.”

Asta backed away from the book, and looked at the Mirror of Transformation thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you’d sell the mirror though? Or the statue of Andraste?”

Cullen frowned, “Asta! We are not displaying a naked Andraste in Skyhold _or_ South Reach! And you look fine! You don‘t need an Eluvian to change the way you do your hair! Those things are dangerous!”

“It could give me better cheekbones, Cullen! Cheekbones like Cass! I’ve always wanted those,“ Asta said longingly. “My face is so round and flat… and what do you have against Andraste? It’s a nice piece!” Asta argued, and Hawke nearly collapsed against Varric in a fit of laughter. “It’s _art_ , Cullen! It would look lovely in the Skyhold garden! Right outside the Chantry! In a prime spot for fondling by the faithful and… not so faithful!”

Cullen nearly snarled before he realized she was teasing him. “In either case, they aren’t for sale,” the wizened owner proclaimed, deep breaths between words. “Though if you are looking for statuary… there’s always Red Meredith…”

Cullen turned and saw his former Knight-Commander in the shadows of a far corner, and cursed, “Maker’s Breath, Asta, let’s leave this corrupted place. Please.”

“Just the armor schematics then,” Asta said, a little sadly. “And maybe some of those apples of Arlathan. If they were really recommended by Genitivi.”

“I have the letter to prove it. Documented correspondence between Sister Petrine and Brother Genitivi upon the sampling of the apples,” the shopkeeper proclaimed, gasping now for breath. “Also, I believe you have some undelivered mail in that chest, _Viscount_ Tethras. From the Merchant’s Guild.” It was Varric’s turn to back away from the box filled with letters. The proprietor’s shuddery laugh crawled up Cullen’s spine, and he took once last glance at the book, now displaying what looked like columned ruins in a swamp or forest - the picture wasn‘t clear from this distance - before he turned away to pay for Asta’s purchases, clinking coin into the Urchin’s open hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Inquisitor. Do come again?”

And the man’s creepy laughter followed them out the door.

 


	28. What is Important

Lady Cerastes sat regally on Bernie’s couch that evening, looking at Asta with kind calculation. “My dear Inquisitor, I understand you are soon to travel into Starkhaven?” Cullen held himself stiffly. He found it difficult to relax around her, despite her almost shy demeanor and kind way. It was ridiculous, he had spent years at this point, rubbing elbows with nobility. He should be over this.

“That’s right, milady. I hope you aren‘t concerned about having no where to go,” Asta replied easily, trying to mind her manners. Cullen knew she rather liked the woman. They had had lovely conversations about the early Chantry before the split, and a lively debate about whether or not reintegration could ever be possible (Lady Cerastes believed it possible, Asta the opposite), but they were hardly on a first name basis. “Viscount Tethras has offered you a room at the Keep, if you wish to stay in Kirkwall, or you could travel to Skyhold with Petri and his loot, if you are so inclined. You would be welcome there.”

Cullen’s mouth twisted at Petri’s reaction to the word ‘loot’ - a sudden jerk and a self-complimentary grin. He was proud, that was evident.

Of course, he had managed to pull off the largest library hoist in known history. Asta would be glowing, if it had been her.

“Of course, someone should go to look after the books,” Lady Cerastes smiled kindly, and hopefully, “But I wanted to ask you, and your husband, as well, to take Petri with you.” Asta put her teacup down suddenly with a sidelong glance at her husband‘s admittedly tense jaw, but the lady rushed to explain, almost eagerly, “He’s told me a bit of… the situation, and I know it would be awkward, but he has much to learn about the world outside of the Imperium, since this is where he has chosen to live his life. He‘s been avoiding you since… your happy announcement, not wanting to cause you undue stress…” Her son, snorted his post-dinner brandy. Cullen winced. No doubt that burned. “But he’s a proficient mage, though I know I’m biased. He is my son… he attended the Minrathous Circle, you know. The most prestigious… surely he‘s told you that he graduated early… and was the youngest Head Archivist ever appointed…”

Maker’s Breath, Cullen realized, the Lady Cerastes babbled when she was nervous, and was a proud mother. He relaxed his shoulders. As Sera would say, she was just people, after all.

“Mother,” Petri had turned a mottled red, whether from the ingestion of brandy into his nasal passages or embarrassment was a matter for debate. “Don’t put the Inquisitor into an uncomfortable position. I do not want…”

“Yes, you do,” his mother contradicted. “You said so. It’s not unusual to be attracted by competence, Petri. I know you will not give into base desires. I didn‘t raise you that way. Though, that said…” the older woman lifted an eyebrow regally at Asta, who was biting her lips in an attempt to suppress some unnamed emotion. Cullen thought he recognized which one. “I don’t suppose you have a sister… or a cousin, perhaps?”

“MOTHER!” Petri went far whiter with humiliation than his skin tone should have allowed, and covered his eyes with his free hand. “I apologize, Inquisitor, for my mother’s lack of social skills. She spends too much time alone, since my father’s death. Not that she was much better then, but my father kept her company in her rudeness. Sweet Maker deliver me from my relatives, _please_ ,” He glared out around his fingers at her, raging silently, and red and white in equal measures. “Please, Mother… stop?”

“I do not have a sister,” Asta replied, her shoulders quivering, and Cullen was sure, now, that she was desperately trying not to laugh. “Only brothers, I’m afraid… I have many cousins, but most have been married for some time - Trevelyans tend to be paired young, current company excluded - and I know none of them well.”

“What a shame,” the Lady sighed, “Do think about whether or not you know someone else appropriate - and compatible with my Petri? Outside the Imperium a magic-wielder wouldn’t be strictly necessary… though preferred, obviously. One must think of one’s grandchildren.” She sighed wistfully, “I thought, given your varied acquaintance, there must be… but I‘ve said too much.” Petri’s murmured embarrassment followed her out, as Asta excused herself with the bare minimum of politeness, before her lack of control overwhelmed her, Cullen immediately following her out, lest he get caught in a family argument.

“Mother, _must_ you continue to embarrass me? I should have left you in Marnas Pell with grandfather! You were safe there! I should have never brought you out into polite company!” Cullen couldn’t help but sympathize with Petri on this one. No doubt his own mother would have been as embarrassing, had she had the opportunity to meet his wife.

She probably would have told Asta the story about him being found without his skivvies at the top of the pine tree when he was four, claiming he liked the breeze. Maker, he hoped Mia didn’t remember. That story was best dead.

But perhaps he should tell Asta… if their child took after him, she might need to know to check the treetops for naked children. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Nonsense, the Inquisitor will know someone, I’m sure of it! One must see to these things, when one is a mother! I’m sure in a few decades, she will be just as concerned about her child ending up alone.”

“Drop it, Mother. Please. You‘ve done enough damage.”

Cullen watched Max exchange a cryptic look with Bernie whose face was all warning as they trailed behind his sister and her husband up the stairs. Cullen’s thoughts about his youthful escapades vanished into alarm, and all amusement fled. “Asta, I think we need to talk,” Max began. Cullen flanked his wife.

Those were bad words. Very bad words. Damn it, Max, what now?

“What? Do you know someone that would be appropriate?” Asta teased. “You know our cousins far better than I. There are hundreds of them. I’m sure Lady Cerastes would love to hear about her.”

“It is about our family,” Max began hesitantly, as if unsure that it was the right time to admit this, “I wasn’t sure if you knew - I know Leonard does - but since you apparently don’t…” Bernie squeezed his hand in encouragement and he glanced down at her and gained courage. “You do have a sister. Or… did, anyway.”

Asta’s confusion lasted just long enough for Cullen to pull her upstairs into their room, followed by Max, Bernie - and Dorian, who had included himself in the group at the first sign of the Inquisitor’s pale, fading into livid expression. “What the Void are you talking about?” She raged at her brother once the door was shut, and Cullen squeezed her shoulder. “I’m fine,” she bit off to her husband. “I’ve just had a shock. They seem to be in the air lately. But what the VOID are you talking about? Start talking, Max!”

“I didn’t mean… I’ve been trying to find a way for years to bring this…” Max sighed, shoulders slumped. “Asta, technically speaking, I’m not the firstborn. I thought perhaps you had heard… but you didn’t. Obviously.” His trail of non-sequitors ended abruptly, and he confessed, “We did… have a sister. When I was six, and Leonard was barely four…”

“I was born,” Asta said slowly, still confused.

Max started anew, after another glance at Bernie to gather his strength. “You know the saying, ‘The heir, the spare, and one for the Chantry?’ Well, in our case, the first heir went… to the Circle. We all got moved up the line, after that. So to speak.”

Asta nearly crumpled again, saved by Cullen, who moved her to the bed and gently persuaded her to put her head between her legs. “But there’s never been magic in our line,” she said, muffled from the awkward position. “For ages and ages… nothing. I‘ve seen the genealogy charts… Dorian says that it runs in families…”

Max laughed bitterly, “What, you actually believed something Mother said? She’s spent a lot of time and money denying that our sister ever existed, Asta. Do you honestly think she wouldn’t have them redrawn if they didn’t suit her? Honestly, asking around our cousins there is _strong_ magic in the Trevelyan line. Some of them are even claimed by their parents - though Mother and Father are hardly friendly with that side of the family tree. Dorian, don’t you claim that we were ‘Vints originally? Aren‘t we cousins, or something, way back?”

Dorian nodded, and crossed to Asta, alarmed at the grey tone to her skin. He crouched down in front of her. “Breathe, Amica. That’s right. Keep breathing. Slowly now. Yes, I even found the link, after running myself through nearly endless mnemonic prompts. Ages back, of course, but… Fasta Vass, Asta, breathe.” Asta focused on her friend’s eyes, and blew out and in, obediently. “Don’t scare us. Breathe.”

Cullen watched, nearly frozen, and unsure how to help. A sister in the Circle. He… how… what could… he firmed his lips in determination, “What Circle, Max? Do you know what Circle?” If they knew which Circle, they could start looking… perhaps it wasn’t too late. Scout Harding could do amazing things.

Max met his gaze, but his eyes were sad, “Mother and Father arranged for her to be sent as far away as possible. She was in Dairsmuid.”

Asta choked, “No!” Dorian pushed her face back to his, and made her continue the breathing exercises.

“In and out, Asta. Slowly. That‘s the way. You‘ve got to breathe for two, here. Better.”

“Leliana tried to trace her from there after I joined you, hoping… but the trail went dead after the…”

“Annulment,” Cullen bit off harshly, closing his eyes, and seeing his demands at Kinloch play across the back of the lids, with all that came before and after. “It would have. Even if she had escaped the… slaughter… she would have had no reason to think your parents, or any of you would want any contact with her. So few families would…” His words were lost in his own grief, as if he alone had been the one to raise the swords, to run them through, to burn the books and topple the stones.

It could have been him. It was a Seeker from Ayesleigh, the records said, who brought the Templars to Dairsmuid and overran the Circle there. The First Enchanter had put up a fight, but it wasn’t enough. The losses had been complete.

Asta lifted her head to stare at Max, her mouth just as firm as his own, if still white around the edges of her lips. “I’ll let the Champion know that our visit to Starkhaven will be delayed for a few weeks. This is… more important.” She made a movement as if to get off the bed, and Dorian shoved her back down.

“You aren’t going anywhere right this second, Amica. All you get to do right now is breathe.”

“Asta…” Cullen started, alarmed, with Max a single word behind.

“You can’t just go to Rivain…”

“I have, or had a sister!” Asta rang out, in her best command voice. “Even if she’s dead, there could be some sign of her. She was… family! I’m going!”

“At least wait until after the baby…” Max tried. “I’ll do some more asking around. There are a few Jennies in Rivain…”

“No,” Asta’s mouth had never looked so stubborn. Cullen folded his arms and she glared back. “I’m going.”

“It’s waited this long.” Cullen attempted, but his impatience at her intransigence leaked through his efforts at compromise, and he shifted his ire to Max. Wouldn’t he be reacting the same way if it had been Mia or Ros? He certainly hoped so. “Why now?”

“I wanted to tell you all along, but I didn’t intend…” The last was directed at Cullen, at the threat apparent that was painted in the snarl of his lips and the bracing of his shoulders. “I’ve really fucked this up. Bernie, help me out?”

“You’re on your own,” his new wife shook her head. “Talk fast, sweetie. I don‘t have my axe, and both Dorian and Cullen look like they‘re going to murder you.”

“Why didn’t _you_ go!” Asta all but ordered. “You _remember_ her! How could you just…”

“Our family wasn’t something I could have welcomed her into,” Max explained desperately, and Bernie stepped forward again to catch him around the waist with an arm, a small bulwark against his grief. “I figured, until the Inquisition, that if she was alive, she was better off wherever she was, without us! Dairsmuid was different, the rumors the Jennies carried claimed, right up until… it didn‘t seem like a bad life for her until…”

“Right up until they all died?” Asta countered, in a soft, all-too-dangerous voice, “And after the Inquisition was formed? And when I put in charge? What then, Max? How did you justify this… lack of involvement, this oversight, then?”

“Leliana was looking! I thought maybe she would find her own way to you, to the Inquisition, and ultimately concluded that she must be dead, when she… didn‘t. Mother made sure that she went as far away as she could manage. Nearly out of the hands of the Chantry entirely. You are known all over Thedas as a mage rights sympathizer, Sis! You had the remains of the loyalists, and the rebels! Why else would she have stayed away?! She’s either dead, or hates the very thought of us.” Max ran his hands through his hair and Bernie turned her face into his torso in an attempt to comfort him.

“Or she’s Tranquil,” Cullen nearly whispered, the ghosts of his mistakes flitting in front of his eyes. “A Tranquil wouldn’t… wouldn’t think they needed family at all. They would be a distraction from their purpose.”

Asta paled further, nearly green, and dropped her head back between her legs, while fumbling for Cullen’s hand blindly. He took it, and dropped down next to her in a squat, pressing it to his forehead in a silent apology for everything he had used to think and be. “I have to know,” she repeated.

“I’ll go with you,” Max swallowed, and hugged Bernie with a single arm. “She at least will remember me if… You were born… after she left.”

“After she was taken, you mean.” Asta’s face came back up, nostrils flared. “After Mother gave her first child _away_ …” her knuckles were white and clenched Cullen’s hand harder. “They never meant to have me at all, until they needed a fucking back up plan…”

“She wouldn’t have been given much choice once the Templars knew…” Cullen started, eyes haunted, and Max continued.

“That’s not true. Mother was already pregnant before she…” Asta’s anger made him stop. “I don’t know why I’m fucking defending them. But Laurel… she was fun. Just before she left, she had these wild dreams, and then… stuff started to happen. Odd things, like her juice freezing in her glass at breakfast.” Max smiled in memory, “I was six, and thought it was amazing. But I don’t remember everything. I do know that Father didn’t stop Mother from sending for the Templars.”

 

Asta snorted. “That’s the only part of this that doesn’t surprise me. What, no naming after Great-Aunt Gretchen? No namesake for Auntie Winifred? No over the top, holier than thou declarations to the Chantry?” Her face fell, her pallor and worry making her seem far older than her true age, “Obviously by the time I came around Mother wasn’t even trying anymore.” Cullen squeezed her hand.

“Father named you,” Max corrected. “I thought you knew that.”

“I don’t know _anything_ about our family, apparently,” Asta snarled, mercurial in her anger and grief. “That’s what happens when you’re sent away as a child, I suppose.”

Cullen thought quickly, “I think you dodged a bullet. I think naming your daughter ‘Ambition’ is just asking for trouble. Evelyn isn’t that bad in comparison, love. Your father did a far better job.”

Asta half smiled, recognizing his attempt at peacemaking, and loosening her grip on his hand. “Mother definitely found trouble, didn’t she? With three out of four of us, no less. I can almost pity her. Not quite, but almost.” She frowned then, looking up at her husband’s face, color nearly back to normal. “I’m going, Cullen.”

“I wouldn’t dream of stopping you,” Cullen replied, resigned. “We’ll leave as soon as possible. But you get to write to Mia and break the news. She’ll never forgive me if I tell her.”

***

_Dear Mia,_

Asta sighed, gripped the pen tighter, and glanced at Cullen, who was bumbling his way through an explanation to Hawke and Sebastian about the circumstances under which their visit to Starkhaven had to be postponed in favor of a trip to Rivain. He had just reached the phrase, “Asta didn’t realize she had a sister in the Circle there,” when Asta heard Hawke choke on the pastry they had offered and Sebastian start to pound her back urgently. She quickly upgraded her opinion of which of them had the more difficult news to break, and went back to her letter thankfully. Hopefully Hawke wouldn’t think too ill of her, for not knowing.

At least Mia was hundreds of miles away. If she choked upon the news that Asta had mage blood in her veins, she would likely never know.

Unless it killed her. Shit. Cullen would never forgive her if she was responsible for the death of his older sister.  Or younger sister.

But she had a job to do, a letter to write.  One that needed a careful hand.  Time to be… diplomatic. Right.

 _I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of a shock, that will require us traveling to Rivain instead of Starkhaven as originally planned. It turns out… I have - had - a sister. An older sister, who was taken to the Circle some time ago. This Circle… didn’t meet a good end. The worst end, actually.  She's likely dead. But I have to_ try _, Mia. You have a sister, I’m sure you understand. Fuck, I would even do this for Leonard, if he was the asshole who got sent away. But maybe my sister wasn’t like the rest of my family. Max doesn’t seem to think so. It would be nice to have at least one sibling that wasn’t an ass, don’t you think?_

_I’ve always wanted a real family. Like yours, actually. People who love you no matter what. That's what Cullen and I both want to build of our own.  But to find that kind of love, you have to give it first. If there’s any chance… I have to try in any case. It’s all I can ask of anyone, including myself._

_The baby is doing well, and I’m gaining weight. The midwife wants me to gain more. I’m trying to be careful and Cullen makes me be even more cautious. You should be proud - he‘s already a good father._

_I intend to be in Skyhold for the birth. If you all could come and stay… I know it’s a massive trip, but I could ask Josie to make the arrangements, if you and Grace and Branson would like it. Of course, Grace will have a newborn by that point, so it might not be very practical. I’m constantly being reminded how little I know about being a mother. Cullen’s memories of your mother are fond but vague. Songs, little things like her cookies, and being scolded for things that the rest of you did. I have a hard time believing that he was that innocent. In his mind it was never his fault. Unlikely, in my opinion. When I next see you, you’ll have to let me know the truth._

_It makes a change from him blaming himself for everything, though. Perhaps it’s progress?_

_We will be careful, I promise. Bandits and pirates should be scared of me right now - I’m apparently a vicious thing when I don’t get enough to eat. And the baby is hungry all the fucking time._

_Tell Cullen in your next letter that we can’t call the baby ‘Pup’, please. He won’t let it go. What is the fascination with that nickname?_

_Love to all,_

_Asta_

***

“So overland, or by sea?” Varric lifted an eyebrow while they bent over the map laid out on the table in his study. “One way you risk Raiders, and the other, bandits. But at least you have a larger group this time? Makes a difference for defense.”

Dorian clutched Bull’s hand. “True. I would prefer bandits over pirates, myself, if I had to choose.”

“But water is faster,” Asta murmured, covering her lower stomach with her good hand. “I have a short timeline, my friends. A few more months and I won’t be able to travel, no matter where I am, until after the baby is born. Not comfortably, anyway. I‘m pretty sure I don‘t want to give birth in Rivain, no offense to the Rivainis. Or on the road, like Cassandra‘s mother.”

“You don’t want that,” Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. “You want to be somewhere you feel safe,” she exchanged a brief glance with Varric, and colored slightly before looking away. “I wouldn’t want to go into labor away from home. It was hard enough as it was.” She shifted Nadiya onto her other shoulder. “I could go with you…”

“Not this time, Cass,” Asta smiled as she interrupted. “I want you to stay here. I miss having you, but you’re needed here. And this is personal, anyway. Hardly Inquisition business.”

“Why should that make a difference?” Cassandra looked surprised, “I am your friend, not just any Seeker. I would travel with you if you need me, whatever the reason.”

“I know.” Asta patted her hand. “But Max and Bernie are coming, and Cullen, of course, and…” her words fell away as she looked at Dorian. “I don’t suppose…” her tone was wistful, but already resigned.

“I have to go back,” Dorian protested. “I can’t just let that bastard _win_. I think he had my father killed, Asta! I will not let that stand. I cannot.” Dorian paused, “But Bull and Emily will go with you.”

“Dorian…” Asta shook her head, “I can’t be responsible for Emily‘s safety… the waters outside Rivain are hardly safe… and you _need_ Bull!”

“Bull will be responsible for Emily’s safety, and I will have Dalish,” Dorian argued. “I’m going back to kick some…” he blushed unaccountably before continuing, “’Vint ass,” he announced defiantly, obviously trying to bluster believably like Bull, and failing completely. “And I won’t let my daughter be a part of that, if you please. So you will take both of them with you. Emily knows enough to keep her shields up, if someone attacks, and I‘ve given her my Ring of Doubt, if there‘s trouble.”

Varric ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll get Rivaini to find you a ship that looks intimidating,” he sighed. “She says if you look mean enough they think twice about boarding you. Not sure where she got that idea, but hey, she’s the pirate. She would know. Probably.” He peered at Asta closely. “But don’t take any risks,” he ordered. “I don’t have many contacts in Rivain.  It's a scary place to get stranded.”

“I do,” Bull grunted. “I got this. They might still speak to me.”

“No Qun,” Dorian demanded. “Absolutely not, Amatus.”

“Will if I have to,” Bull argued. “If it means I can keep Em safe.”

“You’re sending Emily to Skyhold,” Asta ordered all at once, butting in completely, “And Bull, you’ll go with her. I understand Dorian has to go back to the Imperium. As much as I hate it, I understand. But damn it, keep your daughter out of this! Neither one of you has any business going and looking for trouble when you have a child to look after!” She went quiet when she realized what she had just said. Cullen merely coughed politely. “Shut it, love,” she muttered. “This is different. The baby isn‘t here yet.”

“Pot meet kettle, but she is right,” Cassandra backed her staunchly. “I was already expecting when we fought the Qun through the Eluvians. You are not doing something even half so dangerous.”

“Oh yes, it’s merely a pleasure cruise, through… pirate infested waters,” Varric muttered, before Cassandra shot him a quelling glance. “Sorry, Cass.”

Cassandra continued, “But Bull has no business taking his daughter into this kind of danger,” the Seeker’s eyes narrowed at him and Dorian. “If you must avenge your father, or whatever you are telling yourself needs to be done, you have a responsibility to her, first.  Deal. With. It.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bull muttered, eyes full of awe at the Seeker‘s maternal side. “Sorry, Asta, I’m out. Gotta take care of my girl.”

“Understandable,” Asta murmured, equally chagrined at Cassandra’s dragon mother mode, and wishing suddenly that she could be half that intimidating. Maybe it would come in time? “I’m having second thoughts myself, and she wasn‘t even talking to me. Cullen? Ideas?”

“Other than trying to dissuade you from going at all?” Cullen sighed, and mumbled, “We should ask Petri.” Asta nearly laughed, just stopping herself before she hurt her husband‘s feelings.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Dorian leaned in, cupping an ear facetiously, “I thought you said…”

“We. Should. Ask. Petri.” Cullen gritted out, only slightly louder. “Assuming he isn’t intending to travel with his books and his mother to Skyhold, he could be a help. Also, Rivain respects mages. It would be an asset to have him along. Between Max, Bernie and I, we have enough muscle, even if Asta is absolutely forbidden to fight. Which she _is_ , if that isn‘t already clear.” He glowered at his wife. “Also, you are going to have that armor you bought the plans for at the Black Emporium made and fitted before we leave.”

"You can't forbid me from defending myself," Asta started to argue, but Cassandra broke in.

“Armor for pregnant women,” Cassandra was in awe, “I should have gone myself… but I didn’t have an invitation. I could have used that so many times… I could have fought Bianca myself if…”

Varric winked at Asta. “I’ll see what I can do for the next time, Cass.”

Cassandra whacked him. Varric grunted. “Ass. There will not be a next time. Nadiya is it, dwarf, whatever sordid fantasies have you at the head of a massive family. Lightening doesn‘t strike twice.”

“Can’t blame me for trying,” Varric shrugged. “You were gorgeous, pregnant.” Cassandra scowled at him. “Just like you are now,” he corrected quickly. “Absolutely stunning, is what you are. A vision of lethality, and more dangerous than ever.”

“Damn right she is,” Bull grunted, and Dorian backhanded him instantly. “What, she is! It‘s just a compliment! You compliment Cullen!”

“It’s entirely different when you do it,” Dorian argued, blushing.

“Don’t see how,” grumbled Bull. “I get jealous, too.”

***

The armor was… ridiculous. “Cullen, I can barely move,” Asta complained, under her latest Mabari helm. “Too much metal and not enough range of movement.”

“It’s perfect, then,” Cullen teased, and took off the helm to kiss her. “You don’t need to fight, love, you just have to stay safe, this time.”

Asta plucked at the massive mail shirt and bulky metal. “It’s huge.”

“It’s made that way, to fit around Pup,” Cullen beamed, “when you get larger. This way you don‘t have to have a new set made in a few months.”

“Larger,” Asta sighed. “Right. Cullen… I can’t wear it constantly. It’s too heavy! And… loud. I clank.”

Cullen looked sad, “You don’t like it? I thought it was pretty… I had them make it out of Volcanic Aurum… I thought the floral etchings were a nice touch... they match Fact...”

“I…” Asta sighed again, unable to hurt his feelings, “All right, I’ll wear it when we leave. Happy?”

“Very,” Cullen smiled sheepishly. “Thank you for humoring me.”  He paused, "You don't hate it, do you?"

“It's very nice, for very heavy armor.  Absolutely gorgeous."  Asta assured him.  "But we’re not calling it ‘pup’,” Asta said softly, letting him pull her in by her shoulders. “Ever. It is not a dog. We have a dog. By the time we get back to Skyhold we'll likely have more than one dog to take care of.  This is a baby.”

“Of course it is,” Cullen replied, and kissed her. “You look lovely, you know.”

“Right,” Asta sighed one more time, but smiled. “Still not calling it ‘pup’.  No matter how you try to butter me up.”

 


	29. Facing Consequences

The goodbyes were even harder this time, as Asta had to stand with Dorian to watch Bull and Emily’s ship depart for Jader. Lady Cerastes was on board as well, and Petri was a little further down the dock, looking lonely and isolated.  The ship slowly drifted towards the horizon, its sails catching the wind against the smoky grey sky.

A sky the same color as Dorian's eyes.

“You should be kind to him,” Dorian started, nodding at Petri.

“I’ve always been kind,” Asta protested.

“This is different. If you hadn’t been kind to me when I showed up at Redcliffe, I…” Dorian’s words disappeared. “Well, this would be a far different story, wouldn’t it? We wouldn’t be standing here at all.” He lifted an arm and placed it around her shoulders, and Asta relaxed into it, aware that Dorian’s rare public expressions of affection were something to be taken advantage of. “I’d better get going, Amica. Dalish is waiting for me at the house already, and I don’t… I don’t want to stick around and sleep for a night in a bed without Bull.  And I'm sure Cullen has finished his shopping.  You need to pack.”

“Be careful, Dorian.”

“I’m always careful,” Dorian flashed back, squeezing her lightly. “Think of everything I’ve survived.” He paused, “I will write when I can. But I’ll be moving around. Letters will be… delayed.”

“I know,” Asta pulled back, realizing that Dorian was stifling his emotions for a reason. “Best go before we get maudlin?”

“Don’t forget,” Dorian nearly choked, losing his battle against precisely that, “The baby is named after me. I probably won’t make it back before… I don't know how long...”

“I’m not naming it Dorian,” Asta flung her arms around him again, giving into the impulse, however her friend felt about such displays. “You have a horrible name. And Cullen would never agree.”

“Oh, have you discussed it then?” Dorian raised his eyebrow, even while he sniffed. “Because I assure you, I think you’ll find him more amenable than you seem to believe.”

“I doubt that, Pavus,” Asta shoved him slightly. “How could a child growing up in Ferelden survive with a name like Dorian? In a country full of Ferguses and Bellas? I might as well name it Aurelius, or Ophelia.”

Dorian reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumb. “Just talk about it, Amica. Cullen will have his reasons. They are excellent ones, if I do say so myself. Don‘t make me pull the ‘I nearly sacrificed my life for you and your child‘ card.  I've earned this, with bloodshed, tears and years of action.”

“Whatever,” Asta grabbed him again, and hugged him even tighter, desperate to keep him safe in the circle of her arm and prosthetic. “What was it that Peter said? ‘Be good’?”

“I’m better than good,” Dorian sounded affronted. “By the time I’m done, all of the Imperium will either be calling for my immediate execution or be naming me the next Archon. And you‘re… you‘re going to stain my leather with salt water. These are new robes, I‘ll have you know.”  He was failing entirely at keeping his voice light.

“Aim for the latter, just for me,” Asta choked, and got control of herself, pulling away again. “I’m sure Petri will walk me back to the house.”  She wiped her eyes on her hand.

“Good,” Dorian smiled, a weak and watery smile. “I’m glad I remembered not to put on kohl this morning. I’d be a mess.”  Asta wiped his tears away, smiling weakly.

“You’re never a mess,” she laughed, warmly. “Not like the rest of us.”

“How kind of you to notice,” Dorian looked up at the sky, darkening with an impending storm. “Best run along.  I’ll see you when I see you, I suppose?”

“That sounds good,” Asta lifted her chin, and the wind whipped around her, rustling her robes and flipping her hair wildly. “Kick some ‘Vint ass... Amicus.”

“I fully intend to do just that.” Dorian’s smile was wide and predatory as he backed away. “I’ll try to leave some for the rest of you. Wouldn‘t want to deprive you of any satisfaction, after all.” He stopped and turned. “Do try not to get yourself killed while I'm gone? I‘m rather fond of you, Amica.  Don't go picking fights with Elvhen gods, or ancient magisters... you get in the worst sort of trouble.”

Asta could only nod, and pray to whatever god was listening that she would see him again. Someday.  Dorian turned the corner, and she called out to the man further down the dock, “Petri! Ready to head back?”

Petri dragged his eyes back from the boat, and nodded in turn. “Let’s go. I need… I need to pack.” He offered his arm, and Asta, after only a moment’s hesitation, took it. “It feels strange to be left behind. I should be on that ship.”

“Time enough to get you to Skyhold,” Asta assured him. “Are you worried about the texts?”

He shook his head. “But I’ve never been where you’re going. Heading to Skyhold sounds… safer. More familiar, anyway. I’ve never really… fought for my life.” His brow was creased. “I’m not sure I can.”

Asta sighed, “I assure you, the first time someone comes at you with a sword bigger than a head, and you realize that they are going to kill you if you don’t fight back, you will fight for your life. I’ve been there, more times than I can count.” Her face was troubled. “What I don’t know is whether or not I can ever go back. You get used to people wanting to kill you.” She squeezed his arm. “With luck, which I am told I have plenty of, you won’t ever have to find out."

"Somehow I think I could live without your kind of luck," Petri murmured.  "But the ship's already left.  No point in second thoughts now."

***

The trip to Rivain was far shorter by water than overland, and largely uneventful, thanks to a certain ‘Admiral’ that took it upon herself to escort them when Varric asked. Every ship they spotted disappeared flatteringly quickly into the horizon, as soon as they were within spyglass distance.

“This is boring,” Isabela complained on their last day. “I need another smaller boat so that no one recognizes me.”

“I thought you liked ‘big boats’”, countered Hawke, who had decided to join them at the last minute. Cullen suspected Varric had asked her, but she was making the trip… uncomfortable, with her narrowed eyes following him suspiciously around the ship.

“I do,” purred the Rivaini woman, “But now everyone out there recognizes my big boat, and that means I don’t get to have as much fun. Some of them are faster than me, and I can't chase them with passengers aboard.” She kicked her legs up on the table in the Captain’s Quarters and Cullen averted his eyes from her legs. “It’s alright, Cullen, you can look,” the Admiral urged him, “I don’t mind. And with your little wifey knocked up I bet you aren’t getting much action…”

Cullen thanked the Maker quickly that Asta was taking a nap. She probably would have felt the need to prove her libido, or something. She was already wearing him out. Pregnancy was a scary thing.

“’Bela,” Hawke yawned in a subtle warning.

“Fine,” Isabela pouted. “You’re less fun since you married Choir Boy, Hawke. Don’t you ever just want to…” she gesticulated emphatically, with large hand movements and strange hip thrusts - somehow managing not to tip the chair over. Cullen resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck, in favor of staring out the cabin window instead.

“Sure I do, but I made promises,” Hawke grinned, “Promises that ‘Bastian will make worth my while when I get home. And one of those promises is that I told him I would make sure that the Inquisitor will arrive in Starkhaven safely, with herself and her husband unmolested, and her little family intact.”

Cullen glanced at her, surprised out of his embarrassment, temporarily. “Why would Prince Vael…”

Hawke met his eyes honestly, and he was reminded why he let her, an apostate, go so many times. Her pain was just beneath the surface, reminding him of his own. “Sebastian’s family is dead. As is most of mine. We both understand what family is worth. That said, your Inquisition may need to see what Starkhaven is doing with the College, but Starkhaven needs this alliance with the Inquisition to protect itself. I had to talk Sebastian out of coming himself.  It‘s not precisely self-serving but it‘s damn close.” Hawke smirked, “Besides, you die, and I’m out a chance at another Dog. I miss having a puppy around.”

“So do I.” The Fereldans shared a smile, for one of the first times. “Thank you, Hawke. For… everything.”

“Least I can do,” Hawke shrugged. “’Bastian might be right. I might owe you. Slightly. Not as much as you owe me for all those damn blood mages I took out, and the corrupt Templars, and all of the other things, like keeping your girl safe in the fucking Fade, but… some, anyway. Get out of this alive and introduce me to Dane’s litter, and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal,” Cullen agreed, and held out his hand. The mage took it, and shook firmly.

"Ah, Fereldans," Isabela sighed, and swung her legs down to put her elbows on the table, and rest her hands on it. "You might as well be friends, with an agreement like that."

"Who says we aren't?" Hawke challenged the Admiral.  "I've had worse."

***

Dairsmuid itself was a crowded harbor of confusion, with a more diverse population than Cullen had ever seen outside of Skyhold, a blur of kossith, elves, and humans, with a few dwarves here and there. The boardwalk of small houses that edged the harbor, built out over the water, reminded him slightly of Redcliffe before the Blight. But the resemblance ended there - with huge frond-like palm leaves instead of pines, and clear blue water, and sand instead of rocky beaches… in every other way it was completely foreign.

It looked poor, and run down, and Asta was fidgeting. They had arrived too late in the day to make it to the Chantry before they closed their doors, but they both were sick of being on the ship. “I want to take a walk,” Asta slumped over the rail, looking down at a sunken part of the ancient city in the eerily clear water of the harbor, the ragged stones covered with algae deep beneath . “Cullen, would you come with me? We’ll find the Chantry at least, and can go directly there in the morning?”

Cullen nodded, and Isabela drew them up a rudimentary map of the city. “Stay out of here and here, unless you are wanting to pick a fight,” she instructed, pointing to specific streets and areas with her dagger, “or want… friendly company, or both, occasionally at the same time. And you’re taking the mages,” she ordered. “Because I don’t want the Prince of Starkhaven to come after my ass.” She winked at Hawke, “He’s not my type.”

“I didn’t know you had a type, ‘Bela,” Hawke teased, and the Rivaini woman flipped her off. “I didn’t think you were particular at all.”

“Fuck off and die, Hawke,” the Admiral replied airily and almost kindly. “I definitely have a type, but uptight and holier-than-thou isn’t it. Obviously, the same can’t be said for you, asshole.” She paused, and then, started again, with a slightly more serious tone of voice, “That said, listen to me, will you? I want excitement, but don’t particularly want to run afoul with what passes for the authorities in my home country. You don‘t shit where you eat, understand?”

“We’ll behave, Mom,” Hawke teased. “We’ll stay in the yard, and won’t talk to strangers…”

“What’s the fun in that?” Isabela snarked back. “Talk to all the strangers you want, sweetums. Just don’t take candy from any of them. And for fuck‘s sake, if they start a fight, you finish it. Can‘t have my reputation tarnished by my own passengers.”

“That I can promise,” Hawke grinned wolfishly. “It’s been too long since I had a little fun. Starkhaven is boring, when you aren‘t allowed to blow things up outside of training days.”

To get to the Chantry without passing through the dangerous parts of town, they had to pass the remains of the ruined Circle, and Cullen found himself with an odd sense of déjà vu, standing in front of it, just as he had in the Compendium‘s picture. The rocks had literally been pulled down, probably for reconstruction projects, so that only the barest outline of the tower remained - and it looked unstable. “She won’t be there,” Asta murmured to him, and pulled him along. “The Chantry is our best bet, assuming they have any records at all, love. And you don’t want to go in there. I know you don‘t.”

Cullen could feel Hawke’s eyes on him as he approached the memorial stone that had been erected with the fallen stone of the tower, rough runes etched on it that said simply, ’In Memory of the Fallen, 9:40 Dragon’. He traced the letters with his fingertips, and thanked Andraste for what seemed the millionth time that the Warden hadn’t listened to him. Because this was an annulment. This was bones, and ash, and death and waste. And this was what he had _begged_ for at Kinloch. This is what Hawke had _prevented_ in Kirkwall.

“No, I don’t,” Cullen agreed, his eyes troubled. “Asta, I…”

“I know you have regrets,” Asta pulled him again. “Come away, love. You can light a candle for them in the morning. I‘ll stay up with you all night, if you can‘t sleep.” Cullen nodded, grateful beyond words, and caught the Champion‘s expression.

Hawke’s eyebrows went up, almost in approval, and she spoke, quiet and sincere, “We both will.” The survivors of Kirkwall exchanged a look. “I’m just as much at fault as you, Cullen. I started this whole mess, when I helped Anders. Maybe if I had helped them rise… if I had been there, helping them… if I had backed Orsino before he turned to blood magic, traveled and fought to support the towers…”

“I doubt that it would have made a difference to Dairsmuid,” Cullen murmured. “It wasn’t Diarsmuid's Templars that annulled their Circle - most of them appear to have died defending it from Ayesleigh. But… thank you, Hawke.” He allowed himself to be pulled away. Today, it was better to let the ghosts of the past rest.

Perhaps it was always better to let them rest.

The Chantry itself was a mess. “Maker’s Breath,” Cullen stopped dead in the street, distressed. “What happened here?” Shutters were falling off the broken windows, parchment covering the shattered panes, and the once lovely building was stained, and decrepit. A side door was hanging off its hinges crookedly, barely closed, even as the front door was securely barred. “This is the Dairsmuid Chantry? Do they have another one?” He had never seen a Chantry that looked this… decrepit and almost... abused.

“Outside of Dairsmuid, the hold of the Chantry is almost non-existent in Rivain,” Asta explained, tightening her hold on his arm, her face, stone. Yet somehow, he could sense that she was still… upset by its appearance. “Their Grand Cleric chose to spend all their time in Val Royeaux before the Conclave, I heard. I imagine that this Chantry doesn’t get much money or attention thrown its way, especially since the Divine‘s death. Their nobles likely aren‘t even bothering with lip service any longer.” Her lips tightened. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, seeing the attached buildings. “They have a Chantry home. Damn it to the Void.”

“Asta?” Cullen was confused, “What are you thinking?”

Asta shook her head. “I’m not sure.” She turned away, with difficulty. “Let’s get back to the ship. Maybe… maybe it will look better in daylight?”

It didn’t. In the harsh light of morning the Chantry looked even worse - the structure’s roof had visible holes, and the morning dew shone around the ragged edges, and clean, but disheveled, children were playing in the adjacent courtyard with what looked like sticks and rocks. “Cullen…” Asta stopped completely, before she went through the doors. “I should have sent Max here. It’s not too late - I could try to contact the Jennies… one of them would talk to the Inquisitor, right? I can‘t…” she babbled, face tense, “I can’t go in there.”

Petri and Hawke had already gone ahead, disappearing into the darkness inside the building with nothing but confused looks passed between them over the Inquisitor's strange behavior. “You can do this,” Cullen urged her. “Let’s go inside. It’s not the first Chantry you’ve been in since you left, after all.”

“Just the first since my exile,” Asta reminded him. “And the first that has a _Home_ attached. Really bad memories, Cullen. And this place looks a lot worse than Ostwick.” She stopped following him at the threshold.  "Ostwick had a roof, and solid windows."

“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want,” Cullen paused, considering their options, as Asta slowly backed up from the door frame. “You can wait outside - I’ll call for Petri and he’ll wait with you, I’m sure - I‘ll ask the necessary questions - I‘m sure they‘ll speak to me when I introduce myself…”

“I…” She stopped backing up, as a kind-looking Revered Mother approached her, obviously aware of her discomfort and determined to assist however she could. “No, I’ll go in. I have a reason to be here. Ignoring the situation doesn’t solve anything. I’ll visit the archives first,” she muttered with determination. “You try to get as much information about their circumstances as possible - see if you can help. Max is already pumping the locals, in case I can’t find anything.” She looked up at him in near despair, but the pain of what she saw was overwhelming her own reluctance. “Cullen, I hate the Chantry. Hate it. You know that, right?”

“I realize,” Cullen said cautiously, recognizing that she didn‘t want to feel pity, not for the Chantry, and was failing, miserably. “Asta, what are you thinking?” The Revered Mother came closer, a dark brown woman with a kerchief over her hair instead of the usual blighted hat, but wearing the appropriate robes all the same, a little the worse for wear. This was no Orlesian Revered Mother, wearing the most expensive fabrics and impeccably clean. This was a woman who got her robes dirty every day in service to those less fortunate.

He liked her immediately.

“Damn it,” Asta said through white lips. “I… can’t ignore it. These children are suffering because I made sure the Chantry didn’t have enough… It’s my _fault_ , Cullen. I did this.”

“It‘s not your fault,” Cullen offered, confused. “Asta, I don’t understand how you can blame yourself,” but Asta had turned away, struggling to contain her emotions. “Revered Mother,” he bowed.

“Hello,” the Mother smiled widely in welcome. “How can I help you travelers?” Her eyes caught Asta’s crossbow of an arm and she paled. “You aren’t just any travelers, are you? I… welcome you, Inquisitor,” she raised her dark, almost black eyes to Asta’s with a touch of reverence, but not worship, Cullen noticed, relaxing. That would help Asta, he hoped. “We were not expecting a visit, I’m afraid…”

Asta sighed, obviously relieved that she hadn’t used the other title. “I was hardly expecting to be here myself until a few weeks ago. And yes, I am the Inquisitor,” she confirmed awkwardly. “I wonder if you can help me, Mother… I’m looking for someone that may have been at Dairsmuid's Circle when it was annulled. Do you have any records of the… occupants?” Her eyes were large, almost pleading. “Did anyone… survive?”

“None of the adult enchanters, and we didn‘t have many Tranquil. Those we did have were…,” the Revered Mother‘s face fell, “Innocents rarely fare well in such situations. Even First Enchanter Rivella died at the hands of those brutes from Ayesleigh, and she knew how to plan a battle, because she was raised with the Armada.” she hesitated visibly, caution warring with bitterness, her eyes flicking back and forth between him and his wife. “You are aware that Dairsmuid was… different?”

“I am,” Asta said slowly, trying desperately to find her knowledge and logic in the morass of her emotions. “I’ve spent some time reading, on my way here. It sounded… healthy, quite honestly. Local tradition shaped it in a way other Towers lacked. The mages had families, I know. I found what I read… refreshing.” She swallowed, and Cullen recognized her resisting the urge to gag, in memory of what else she had read. “Of course, that makes what happened even more… gruesome.”

“Some of the mage’s… children survived. Not all,” the Mother offered, even more cautiously. “But some. And yes, we do have records of the dead.”

Asta’s eyes were closed, grief and resignation warring across her face. “To hear you got some of the children out is… good to hear.  I'm looking for... my older sister.  Laurel Trevelyan.  She will be among the dead, but, my brother and I... well, we need to see it for ourselves.  To know, I suppose.”  Asta paused, "I don't even know if she reached the rank of Enchanter, if she passed her Harrowing, if she was made Tranquil or...  I don't know anything about her, except her approximate age.  I apologize for my ignorance."  He could see her anger at her lack of knowledge burning under the surface.

The Revered Mother's eyes flashed with recognition, even while she remained stoic.  Cullen resisted the desire to rest his hand on his sword.  This woman was no threat, but she wasn't telling the whole story.  Could he blame her, given what had happened here? “The children have their lives, at least. We’ve had our own struggles, but we do our best with what we have. Come, Inquisitor, I will find the record. We burned many dead in the days that followed, but we were able to identify all of the mages, if not their aggressors. Most of them were well-known in the community, and that made it easier. Dairsmuid honored its mages, unlike most other cities that hosted Circles.” She led the way into the back of the Chantry, passing the shrine where Hawke and Petri had ignited two tall, red candles with a wave of their hands with an appreciative smile. “It’s nice to see mages in our Chantry again,” she observed. “It has been so long. Thank you for coming, both of you.” She dipped her head briefly into an antechamber to address an initiate. “Sister Amora, would you be so kind as to show the Inquisitor’s husband around our facility? I am taking the Inquisitor to the records room. You have matches, correct? Perhaps he would like to light a candle himself.” She looked apologetically at the Inquisitor and Cullen, “I’m sorry, but we keep the matches on us always - we had a problem with them being stolen by the children, and for a while we were concerned that the Seekers and Templars would burn the Chantry down. No reason to give them the flames they needed. We even doused Andraste‘s fire, for the duration of the... annulment.  Most of the damage you see happened then, but we've had little to make repairs with since.” The sister stood and the child she had been sitting and reading with hid behind her, as the Mother drew Asta gently away towards the room in question. “Follow me, Inquisitor?”

Asta only nodded, and fell into line behind her. Cullen watched her go, and turned back to his own tasks, both the ones that she had given him, and the ones he was giving himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People should be more upset about Dairsmuid. Seriously, this was a Tower that was functional and respected in their community, and it was annulled only because a Seeker went and got some Templars from Ayesleigh to come over and slaughter everyone in 9:40 Dragon. The mages had families, and were defending their home - not their prison. Their First Enchanter, Rivella, was a daughter of an Admiral in the Felictissima Armada, and tried to lead the defense. She failed.
> 
> In my mind, it is the worst fate of any Circle. Even worse, because it happened a scarce year before the Conclave.
> 
> In my headcanon, one of the rogue Seekers that you hunt down with Cassandra in Inquisition is the one responsible for the siege of the Diarsmuid Circle by the Ayesleigh Templars. Bastard deserved to die.
> 
> Sorry, possibly I am too emotionally involved in Dragon Age lore. ;)


	30. Hope is where the door is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from U2's "Sleep Like a Baby Tonight"
> 
> "Hope is where the door is  
> When the church is where the war is  
> Where no one can feel no one else's pain."
> 
> This is a happier chapter. Really.

The Sister known as Amora spoke eagerly, “I greet you, Ser…”

“Ser Rutherford,” Cullen cleared his throat, uncomfortable at being left alone. “How can I help you, Sister?”

The woman laughed loudly, in appreciation and humor, “Well, that’s a reversal,” she grinned, and Cullen noticed a silver nose ring gleaming faintly against her deeply tanned skin. “Usually we’re the ones offering the help. Plenty of people around here that need it, after all.”

“You look like you need it more than I do,” Cullen drawled dryly. “I don’t have much time, but I’m pretty sure that I could get at least your side door to hang straight on its hinges. It looks like it still has hinges?” Hawke stood at his statement and drew closer.

“Perhaps Petri and I could help with the roof damage,” Hawke spoke more softly than he had ever heard her. “It looks like there are enough materials to at least patch it with… it won’t be pretty, but it will keep more damp out.”

The Sister’s mouth dropped open, and Cullen‘s gut clenched. How long had it been since someone did anything for these women? “That… that would be wonderful. I thank all of you.” Cullen nodded briefly and marched towards the door in question, as the Sister followed him, trailed in turn by the child she had been with. Cullen glanced behind him curiously, but the child was staying just out of sight. A girl, he thought, but he wasn‘t sure. He adjusted the door, and used the grip of his dagger to hammer the simple peg in the hinges down, swinging it back and forth critically. It squeaked, but fit snugly without wobbling now. His self-appointed task completed, he took a step back, nodding in approval as it latched like it was supposed to.

“The Maker must have sent you. We’re lucky that we are having such a warm winter, or the drafts and rain would be making us all sick.” The child with her finally peeked her head around the Sister’s hip, tugging on her robe for attention. “Excuse me, but I believe someone would like to be introduced. This… is Philippa,” the Sister smiled at the child who was peeking around her. “Say hello to Ser Rutherford, Philippa.”

“That is _not_ my name,” the dark haired girl lifted her eyes up, blue-brown eyes in her darker face almost glowing. “I’m Pippa.” The Sister let out an exasperated sigh.

Cullen tensed, recognizing her face with that same strange feeling of déjà vu he had experienced the night before by the Circle tower, and then lowered himself down to one knee to look her in the eye. “Of course you are,” he said gently. “And I’m Cullen, not Ser Rutherford.” He pulled an apple he had brought for Asta, out of his pocket and offered it to her silently. The child took it with a small smile and a tilted head.

And then she bit her lip in a familiar manner and looked at him suspiciously, “Are you going to be my Papa?”

The Sister gasped in embarrassment, her face darkening instantly, “Philippa, that’s very impertinent! You shouldn’t say such things!” The child dipped her head, chastened. “I’m very sorry, Ser Rutherford. Philippa is inclined to… wild stories. I can explain…”

Cullen chuckled instead, realizing that the joke of the Emergent Compendium was on him. “Not so wild, I think. Pippa, can I see your eyes?” The little girl looked back up at him, warily. “The truth is, I think I‘m her uncle, at least. We‘ll see what the Inquisitor finds, but I have my suspicions. Asta is looking for her sister.” He paused, “Do you know your mother’s last name, Pippa?”

“It was Trevelyan,” the Sister supplied when Pippa seemed mute. The little girl nodded in affirmation, after a long minute.

Cullen nodded. “Then it’s official. I’m your uncle, Pippa. One of them, anyway.”

“You’re supposed to be my Papa,” the child argued. “My friends said so.”

The Sister made another noise of involuntary protest, almost choking, but Cullen laughed, “As you say. I could probably be your Da, anyway. I’d make a better Da than a Papa. Is that all right?” He silently prayed to himself that he wasn’t overstepping his bounds… but he couldn’t imagine Asta leaving a niece in a Chantry. Even if… but no, not ever.

He wouldn’t let her if she tried.

“I suppose,” the girl lifted her chin high, “But the spirits said my Mum was coming too. My new one. Where’s she, then?”

Cullen’s mouth went dry. “The spirits?” He looked at the Chantry sister, who looked vaguely embarrassed, but not alarmed, precisely. His heart raced, but his mind remained firm.

“We don’t have a Circle here any longer, Ser…”

But Pippa interrupted, with a critical glance at the Sister. “My old Mum wasn’t from here, but she learned how to talk to them when she grew up. The others taught her. But I can talk to her friends, just like she did. They love to talk.”

“We aren’t sure she is actually…” the Sister started again. “It could be a mental defense… many of the children we take in have… darker histories… some of them compensate…”

“It’s all right,” Cullen murmured reassuringly, his pulse thumping in his ears. _Maker, let me be making the right choice._ But surely the opposite of the choice he might have made… before would be the right choice now… “We know about her mother. I… used to be a Templar, Sister.” The Sister’s face grew frightened and she pulled Pippa back towards her abruptly. “No! Not like that! I know about… what happened. It was wrong, and either way, this will be… fine.” The Sister’s face relaxed into relief and Cullen swallowed. _Maker, forgive me for what I used to be, that this woman fears me so much._ “Pippa, your new Mum will be along soon. She’s just checking a few records. She’s trying to find out what happened to your mother, her sister. But I think we both know what she’s going to find.” The child nodded, still far too serious for her age. “How old are you, Pippa?” She was so small - she hardly looked older than six, but that would mean she wouldn’t have any memories of her mother before the annulment…

“Almost eight,” the child answered, after thinking for a minute. “My friends said my new Mum asks a lot of questions, but that she talks to spirits, too, so it’s going to be okay. She won‘t think I‘m crazy?”

“Right,” Cullen’s mind whirled dizzily. “Well, she knows someone who used to be one… and she‘s seen a lot of… strange things in the last few years.”

“It‘s okay, you know,” the little girl confided in a whisper. “It’s all about what you want to see, in the Fade.” She tilted her head and got the far away look in her eyes again. “I’m sorry they hurt you. People wanted to see the bad kind in those days, but I never want to see the bad kind. So I won’t let them hurt you again, even if they are my friends. Because you‘re going to be my Da, and that might be better than any friend.” She slipped her free hand into his, and Cullen tightened his fingers. “How long do you think she’ll be? I want to meet her. My friends say she used to be brighter than the sun, but now she‘s more like a star. They can see her better, now.”

He opened his mouth to answer, to say they could go now, but Asta came out of the back room at that moment with tears falling onto a slim sheaf of papers in her shaking hand, followed by the even more grieved looking Revered Mother. “Cullen, Laurel’s… gone, like we thought, but she had a daughter…” she looked up, cheeks wet. “A daughter named…” She choked, seeing the little girl for the first time, her grief falling away into pure shock. “Cullen, is this… Maker‘s Breath, child, you look like _Max_. Are you… are you…”

Max hadn’t been the first person Cullen had thought of, but he could see the resemblance.

“This is Philippa,” Cullen started first, after a brief silence where the two stared at each other. One warily, and the other with her mouth buttoned up and tears leaking out of her eyes. “Asta, I want you to meet your niece. Pippa, this is your aunt,” he paused for a moment and then continued, feeling absurd. “She’s the Inquisitor.” Asta choked and almost laughed through the tears.

“I know that,” the child scoffed. “And my brother’s in there,” she nodded at Asta‘s stomach, her eyes too wise for her age. “He’s going to be very loud,” she announced clearly, “But we’ll love him anyway.”

“He?” Asta asked weakly, and Cullen relaxed yet more. If she hadn’t even questioned Pippa’s declaring herself their child… maybe it would be all right.

Shit, he was… _he._ Cullen’s mouth worked wordlessly, trying to form words.

Pippa frowned fearfully, suddenly self-conscious, and Cullen struggled to contain his reaction to her news, “I don’t want to answer any more questions. I’m going to get my stuff, and then you can take me home,” she pulled away from Cullen abruptly. “Don’t leave without me,” she whispered, scared and far more child-like. “Please. You won‘t, will you?” Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, and Cullen felt his heart break, and then swell with hope.

He had a daughter, strangely enough. And a son?

“I would never,” Asta stepped forward, “ever, leave you _anywhere_ … Pippa.” The child stared at her with a wild, desperate sort of hope, and then ran away back towards what Cullen surmised was the dormitory, tangled black curls bouncing in her wake. “Revered Mother,” Asta started with a tone of respect that Cullen could never remember hearing in her voice before, and he moved so that he could intercept her if she grew faint again, “What do I need to do to take my niece… away?”

“Nothing,” the Mother whispered. “She… unnerves most of us. We’ve never seen anything like her, and Rivain is full of unusual mages.” Her brow creased with worry and fear. “Trust me, you’ll be doing that child a favor, keeping her safe. She’s been talking about her new parents coming to get her for weeks now. Some of the other Sisters were talking about writing to Kirkwall for a Seeker, when we heard they were reforming. At least one was muttering about the Rite of Tranquility. I’m _glad_ you got here first. This… this is a miracle. Andraste has blessed us, blessed this child. Maker be praised.”

They would never perform it again, if he had anything to say about it. Suddenly, he had a deep appreciation for Ser Thrask, and everything he had done to keep his own daughter safe from the worst of his own kind.

He had a lot of candles to light before they could leave Rivain. Thrask had failed in his quest. How could he ever hope to be strong enough?

“So am I,” Asta whispered, and reached out for Cullen’s arm to support herself. “Still, we should leave a record,” she announced more firmly, despite her shaking, “Stating that the Inquisitor came and claimed her sister’s child. Get me a piece of parchment and I’ll write it up myself. She‘s never coming back, and if anyone comes looking, send them to me. I‘ll deal with them.” Cullen removed their money bag from his waist and went over to the collection box, dropping several heavy coins into it, the wooden box echoing with its emptiness. He filled it until it clinked instead.

“Thank you,” the Revered Mother said, overwhelmed, clutching at the younger Sister who stared at them with her mouth wide open. “You have no idea how grateful we really are. You truly are the Herald of Andraste.”

“I’ll tell the Divine about your situation,” Asta assured her, with only a moment’s pause, whether at the title or at the idea of writing to Leliana, Cullen couldn‘t tell. “I’m sure she will want to help. She‘s traveling through the Free Marches now. Perhaps she‘ll even make a detour.” She swallowed, as if gathering her bravery, “What do you know about Pippa’s father? The records weren‘t clear… is he likely to come looking for her?”

The Mother smiled, sadly. “We only know he was probably local, from the child’s complexion, and that he never stepped forward. Possibly she was conceived during the Allsmet… when things get a little… wild around here. Her nameday would support that, and that’s what Pippa believes. If not then, it was likely a just a fling. You have to understand that in Rivain, we… they… mages are seen far differently. They are revered, here, somewhat more than me, or our Grand Cleric, or even the Divine. So when the Templars attacked, some of us came to their defense. I… was in charge of seeing that the children were spared. As many as possible… so many weren’t… I only wish…” The mother closed her eyes and attempted to refocus, instead of reliving those dark days. Cullen could only sympathize. “Pippa claims that she never met him, when we tried to determine who, if anyone, we could contact about her situation. We knew her mother had been noble… but out of contact with her family, and we couldn‘t be sure that you were of the same family of Trevelyans, even if we had dared to contact you directly…” her words trailed off, her defense abandoned. “I’m sorry. I should have been braver.”

“You did what you could,” Asta choked out. “Thank you, for the life of my niece, Revered Mother. If there is anything I can do, name it.” The Mother shook her head. “Anything.”

“You’ve promised to speak to the Divine on our behalf. To appeal to her, to let her know how we fare… that is enough, Inquisitor. It would be nice to be less… forgotten. The children need so much.”

Pippa came out of the back room at the same run, followed by several equally ragged looking children. “Maker‘s Breath,” one boy stopped dead, “They did come. And he looks just like she said he would, all scowls and folded arms. He looks _mean._ Didn’t know hair came in yellow. She wasn’t lyin’!” Pippa looked very proud at that point, her chin thrust in the air, slowing down and hefting what looked like all her personal possessions in a massive satchel too big for her body. “Pippa, I’m sorry I said you were full of shit.”

“Language, Steben!” The Mother rebuked instantly, almost by rote. “Say goodbye to Pippa, children. Her aunt and uncle are here to take her home.” The other children looked reluctant, but the one called Steben gave her a quick hug with an awed look while the others muttered wary goodbyes.

Cullen bent down and picked up Pippa’s bag, and then, hesitating, lifted the smallish child as well, hefting her up into his arms. She grinned into his face, excited to be on her way, and then he settled her on his back, so that she could cling to his neck, but see forward.

“We’re going to need a few things,” Asta said softly, still weeping and not in control of her voice. “So let’s head to the markets. Clothes, especially, and more food, I think. I‘m hungry. Are you hungry, Pippa?”

Pippa looked shy, “I’m sorry I ate your apple… Mum.”

“That’s quite all right,” Asta said even more quietly. “Let me know if you want anything in particular?”

“The books in my bag are for you,” the child blurted out suddenly and guiltily. “My friends say I have to tell you that Mum stole ’em from the Circle. But that you need to see them, to understand. And that you need to speak to someone called Rhys. He’s… like me, they say.” Even the girl looked confused. “Sometimes my friends don’t make sense,” she confessed. “But I’m glad they were right about you. They said you’d be kind, and that… Da would recognize me.” She leaned her head against Cullen’s shoulder, hiding slightly behind her long, curly dark hair, tied back a little neater with a kerchief now. “I thought maybe you would look like me, since… Da doesn‘t.”

“You have your Mum’s eyes,” Cullen said softly, instantly understanding that she needed the familiar connection of the names, and a knowledge that she was like them, belonged with them. “I knew them the moment I saw you.” That he recognized them from Kirkwall he left unsaid. Truly, the Emergent Compendium was best left alone, along with the rest of Xenon‘s bizarre shop.

“Really?” Pippa perked up a little. “Maybe my brother will too?”

“And you’re named after my grandfather, Philip,” Asta offered, struggling a bit. “Your name means ’Friend of Horses’, did you know that?”

“I’ve never met a horse,” the little girl looked scared and intrigued, her eyes wide. “None of my friends are horses. Though one is a Druffalo, or looks like one, some of the time, anyway. When he’s not being difficult and refusing to take a form. He’s stubborn. I think its easier to talk to them when they look like something, but he likes arguing. Another one is a goat. I ain’t never had a grandfather.”

Asta folded her lips, suddenly furious, “You still won’t, I’m afraid. But you’ll have uncles, and aunts… plenty of those. Only one looks anything like you, though… he‘s out in the city. You‘ll probably meet him… tonight.” Her eyes met Cullen’s and she marveled. “This isn’t how I expected this day to go.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” the girl grinned, revealing several missing baby teeth. “I‘m just glad you finally showed up.”

 


	31. Odd Company

Back on board the ship, Isabela was shocked into candor at the presence of a child, as Cullen finally lowered the girl down slowly and stood back up, stretching his back muscles with a twist to loosen them.  “Who the fuck is this kid and why is she on my boat?”

“Language, Admiral,” Cullen barked in his best Commander voice. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about.”

“Daughter,” Isabela snorted, “Ser Cullen, you were a virgin back in Kirkwall if I ever saw one. That girl looks like what would happen if your wife and I had a love child. She’s precious, but if there‘s a single drop of you in her, I‘m a Magister.” She seemed to realize that she had made the girl self-conscious, and in a more gentle tone asked, “Hey, little beauty, what’s your name?”

“Pippa,” the girl glared, and even the Admiral backed up at the amount of Asta that shone through her face with the stare. “And you shouldn’t talk about Mum that way.” Cullen chuckled, and Max stepped forward, face lined with fatigue and grief, as Asta laid down the baskets of clothing and sundries they had collected in the market on the deck, and stretched her own back, her slightly larger stomach thrust out.

“Sis,” he breathed. “Is she… Laurel is…”

Asta nodded, “I’m sorry, Max, she‘s… gone. But this is Philippa - Pippa,” she clarified. “Pippa, this is your Uncle Max, my brother.”

“You look like my first Mum,” the little girl’s eyes welled up. “Were you her brother, too?”

“Yes,” Max blinked quickly. “I… I’m sorry I wasn’t around… I didn‘t realize… I didn‘t know… Fuck, Sis… who?” He met his sister’s eyes, and dropped them again. “Nah, I don’t want to know. At least… at least she wasn’t alone?” His voice broke on the last word, and he cleared it irritably before continuing. “She had _someone_.”

“The Circle was different,” Pippa said quickly, scrubbing the back of her hand against her eyes. “Hardly anybody had a family at all. And Mum was always _angry_ about family. She said her parents were shitheads and ignorant assholes.” Isabela started cackling madly in appreciation at the child‘s matter of fact obscenities. “But she seemed sad about her brothers. Is my other uncle… here?”

“No,” Max said thickly, “But you have an Aunt Bernie.” The dwarf in question peeked out from behind Max shyly.

“Oh,” Pippa’s eyes were wide. “It’s nice to meet you.” The two stared at each other, nearly eye to eye. “I’m used to being the short one. I‘m always shorter than everybody.”

“So am I,” Bernie replied in awe, taller for once than the slight child. Her eyes shifted to Asta, “Inquisitor… Asta…”

“Laurel is gone, but she left someone special behind. Pippa is… with Cullen and I.  We're keeping her,” Asta summed up. “We have what we came for, Admiral,” Asta instructed Isabela firmly. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“No, we can’t,” Cullen contradicted. “I have some candles to light. In the midst of everything, I could hardly… and Asta, we have to…” he slumped, defeated and completely unable to describe exactly what had happened. “Everything is different, love,” he managed feebly. They stared at each other for a moment, and he could read the shock and grief in her eyes. “I think we should take a little time and get used to… this. Don’t you?”

Asta opened her mouth to reply, but Isabela cut her off.

“It‘ll take a couple of days to get re-provisioned in any case,” the Admiral stared at the little girl for another minute, and then took her huge hat off of her head, and plunked it down on her deliberately, straightening the hair around the child‘s kerchief. “There. Now you’re the Admiral. Admiral Pippa.” The little girl looked suspicious, but straightened the hat. “Keep it.  Suits you, and I have spares.”

Hawke and Petri strolled up the boardwalk, Hawke already talking, as soon as she saw Asta and Cullen, “We finished with the Chantry‘s roof, and they said you two had already left. Cullen, why in the Void did you and the Inquisitor leave the Mother crying? That Sister could barely speak… muttering about miracles, and the Herald of Andraste blessing their Chantry, and other nonsense…” she broke off and stared at Pippa like everyone else. “’Bela, did you have an indiscretion that I didn‘t know about?”

“Don’t be an ass, Hawke,” the Admiral ordered. “This is the Inquisitor’s niece, or something like that. Pippa, precious, this is the Champion of Kirkwall, a real badass mother-fucker. You don‘t want to mess with her.” Isabela’s sweet indulgent tone contrasted entirely with her foul language.

Petri’s gaze shifted between Max, and Asta, and Pippa with humor in his eyes, chuckling. “All This Shit is Weird, indeed,” he murmured.  "Tethras has no idea.  Inquisitor, is she really your niece?" He already believed it, an odd respect settled over his features.

“Daughter,” Asta said firmly after a minute of silence as the child and Champion weighed each other, one obviously setting up years of hero worship in advance, and the other with slightly raised eyebrows - an expression that Asta was all too familiar with at the moment. “She’s our daughter. If I’m her Mum, then she’s my daughter, and Cullen is definitely her Da. And Admiral, if you could maybe tone down your language, I would appreciate it.”

“Eh, the kid’s already proven she’s heard it before,” the Admiral shrugged. “Even growing up in the Chantry. And by all accounts you have quite the mouth as well, Inquisitor.”

“Yes, well, I will at least try to curb it in her presence,” Asta blushed. “These things will… take time, I’m sure, but…”

“It’s okay, Mum,” Pippa assured her. “I know when words are for grown-ups. I was just quoting before. My other Mum wrote a lot of words I wasn‘t supposed to say. I don’t have to repeat them.” Asta just nodded, awkwardly unsure about what to do next. Her eyes begged Cullen for an idea - any idea.

“Well, let’s take you to an inn, shall we? It’ll take a few days for the ship to be ready, and we‘ll just be in the way, if we stay here, I suppose,” Cullen began feebly, and Asta’s face cleared slightly in relief at having a goal.

“We’ll have them bring you up a bath, and...” Asta looked mildly overwhelmed at the task in front of her and laughed honestly at herself. “I’m afraid,” she whispered to the child, bending down as far as her stomach would let her, “That I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never been a mother before. I didn‘t even have my own mother for very long.”

Pippa smiled weakly. “It‘s okay. I wasn‘t anyone‘s daughter for very long, either. You‘re better than nothing.”

“That‘s good to know,” Asta smiled. “I really want to get this right, though. If I screw up, say something?”

Pippa shrugged with one shoulder. “How would I know if you screw up?”  But she grinned wider.

“It will be fine,” Cullen broke in firmly, trying to reassure his wife. “We’ll get off the ship, and have a meal, and get a room in town. You’re all welcome to join us, if you want to get to know Pippa. Admiral,” he paused, a little worried about what Isabela might volunteer, “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Hundreds,” she admitted easily, never taking her eyes off the child. “Some are even appropriate for the current company.”  She paused, "I'll draw you a map.  With a kid, you'll really need to avoid certain parts of town."

***

In the inn’s room that evening, Pippa passed out on her bed within a few minutes, worn out from the stress of the day.

“Cullen,” Asta started, under her breath. “Are we doing the right thing?”

“Yes,” Cullen frowned. “We can’t just leave her, Asta, I wouldn’t think it would even cross your…”

“Not that,” Asta lifted her eyes to his, and leaned against him. “I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

“We had two options,” Cullen murmured, and kissed her head. “Leave her or take her. Which meant we had only one.” Asta snorted.

“You have a point,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have been able… But, Cullen, you aren’t… angry, are you? Pippa isn‘t precisely…” her words trailed off.  "She's... different."

Cullen laughed, a little too loudly, and Pippa rolled over in her sleep, curls tousled against her pillows. “No, I thought… Asta, before you came back, I had already told her she was coming with us.” He reached up behind him and rubbed his neck. “I thought… I thought you might be angry with me… or not want…”

Asta sat up again and stared at him, incredulously. “You thought…” she beamed, “Cullen, you did the right thing.”

Cullen smiled, the wide smile she saw more often lately, sweet and slow. “Did I?”

“You absolutely did,” Asta assured him. “And I love you for it.”

“Good,” Cullen murmured, and bent down to kiss her. “Because now we’ve got to figure out how to parent a nearly eight year old, just in time to add a baby. You loving me will probably help when I start to screw up.”  His eyes were dark with remembered shadows.  Asta reached up and rubbed the creases out between his eyes.

"We'll figure it out," she promised softly.  "She's just a little girl."

***

The next day, Pippa was sitting on the deck with wide eyes, surrounded by presents from well meaning grownups, Cullen and Asta keeping an eye on her, when Max approached Asta cautiously. “With everything… going on yesterday I didn’t get a chance to report,” he started slowly, his eyes following his niece instead of concentrating on his words. “The Friends have news about the elven situation here.”

“About the disappearances?” Asta said eagerly. “What do they know?”

“No Viddathari are disappearing,” Max said urgently. “Every missing elf is either Dalish or city. And there are a lot missing from around here - Dairsmuid had a pretty good relationship with the Dalish. But the Qun‘s elves - not a single unexplained disappearance.”

Asta frowned at the news. “Why would that be the case?” Max lifted a shoulder and dropped it, a tacit admission of confusion.

The little girl raised her head, tilting it slightly. “My friends know,” she offered. “The wolf takes them. The Viddathari have chosen a different path, so he leaves them alone, because they don‘t _want_ to be free. He wants them to choose, so they have to want it first.”

Asta and Max exchanged a look, “The wolf?” Asta managed, hoping beyond hope that she was wrong. “Pippa, who is the wolf?”

“You know him, Mum,” she frowned, “You call him lots of names, but he likes ‘son of a bitch’ best, because it’s funny. Everyone’s usually so scared of him.  You aren't scared. My friends say he thinks you‘re refreshing and smart, even though you‘re wrong.” Her face scrunched up in a smile before falling back out. “He takes them home,” she informed them both. “Takes the paint off their faces, if they have it. Makes them free. He’s trying to do better, teach them how to do it right. My friends say he made a lot of mistakes, before, but he’s trying to teach them how to be...” She frowned, “No, that’s not right. We’re all supposed to be bigger, or… something? My friends talk too much. Sometimes I wish they‘d shut up and let me try to make sense of everything.” She sounded exasperated. “I can only go so fast.”

Asta bit her lip, partially in humor and partially worried, “And do you know where his ‘home’ is?”  Cullen held his breath.

The child gazed up at her in disbelief. “Don’t you? Everyone knows the stories, don’t they?  Where Fen‘Harel came from before?” Asta looked blank, an odd expression on her normally intelligent face. “Arlathan, in Elvhenan, Mum. He came from Arlathan. All the elves came from Elvhenan, didn‘t they, long ago in the stories?” Pippa frowned, “Don't you _read_ , Mum?”  Cullen's snort was loud and expressive, and Max coughed, a feeble attempt to hide his laughter.

“He takes them _there?_ ” Asta gaped in confusion, “Pippa, honey, I don’t understand. There‘s nothing left of Arlathan. It was sunk…” her words trailed off suddenly. “Oh. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t built on the ground, was it? It was… suspended. Solas told me himself. It wasn‘t a forest, long ago… it was a city. A… floating city, with crystal spires…” she tried to recall the conversation, from so long ago, barely remembering.

“It’s not all gone. He tried to protect parts of it, the library, particularly. He didn’t want the people to forget, and wanted to be able to remind them. He has a plan,” the child assured them. “The spirits know. Your friend forgot, is all. Not his fault, the wolf made him. My friends aren’t worried, but you’re afraid he doesn’t think we‘re all people.” The child looked confused again, and very fed up. “I’m going to take these to the cabin,” she pulled her new toys into her skirt. “They’ll trip someone up here. I don‘t want someone getting hurt.” And she disappeared into the ship without another word.

“She’s a bit…” Max began, head tilted, and a besotted expression on his face. “I didn’t understand most of that.  Did you?”

“She's a bit disconcerting?” Asta laughed and filled in the blanks. “So was I, Sister Dorcas told me. She does talk to her friends a lot though, doesn’t she?” She pressed her lips together. “I suppose there’s not much chance that they’re imaginary, is there? What she just said... that was more like Cole than any mage I've ever met.”

“We aren’t that lucky,” Cullen frowned, forehead creased deeply in worry. “Maybe Pup will be a kid with normal imaginary friends, love, but if ever a child was a mage… it’s Pippa. She has almost all the signs.” Asta looked curious for a moment, but failed to ask the obvious question, tabling it for later.

“Well, her mother was,” Max said softly. “One trained here, which encourages… odd things, from what I‘ve been picking up in the streets around the city.”

“Possession,” Cullen whispered, pale beneath his growing tan. “Their Seers encouraged… possession.”

“Like the Avvar? Fascinating,” Asta’s face lit up. “I can’t wait to learn more. Pippa says I’m supposed to talk to Rhys,” she remembered from their conversation the day before. “Pippa says she’s like him, whatever that means. And she said she had books for me. I don‘t want to go through her things to find them. I never had any privacy at the Chantry home. She deserves a bit of it now. I‘d better wait until she offers them, I suppose?” Asta worried her lower lip with her teeth.

Max cursed under his breath, “Divine Galatea’s Holy Shit, Rhys is a _medium_ , Asta. I was part of the escort group that rescued them and brought them to Val Foret. Are you saying that Pippa is…”

“Pippa is a medium?” Asta marveled with some awe but very little fear. “I wonder what Cole will make of her.” She glanced at Cullen, “Are you all right, love?”

“Yes,” Cullen whispered, pale but grounded. “At the end of the day, she’s ours. No matter her talents.” He turned nearly fierce eyes on his wife. “But Asta, if she goes around talking about her ‘friends’ at Skyhold or in Ferelden to her cousins or the kids in South Reach… there aren‘t many people who will take this in stride. We have to protect her, and… she needs a _teacher_.”

Asta nodded, “If Rhys was like this as a child, then it’s a small miracle he wasn’t made Tranquil, no matter who his mother turned out to be. She needs to be taught, and by someone who knows what they are doing.”

“He passed his Harrowing with flying colors, I’ve heard,” Cullen snorted dryly. “No wonder, if he could just talk the demons out of attacking him.” He paused, “But Pippa says she doesn’t ever like to see the ‘bad ones’, and she insinuated that she could… control which ones she wanted to see. That isn‘t exactly the work of a medium, love. I‘ve never heard that Rhys could keep demons from appearing… just that he could talk to spirits more easily, and without entering the Fade.”

“So we’ll find her a teacher,” Asta repeated. “Cullen, go talk to the Admiral, will you, and find out when we can set sail?” She stared down to where her daughter had dropped down the hatch. “I think we can’t waste a single moment. In the meantime, should we talk to Hawke or Petri about starting… whatever we need to start? I have no idea where mages actually begin their studies…” Her wariness was starting to war with fascination. “Do you think I’ll be a distraction if I watch?”

“Talk to both,” Cullen opined. “If my suspicions are right… she’s going to need different perspectives. Circle, and Apostate, and Tevinter.” They exchanged a concerned look. “I’ll do what I can, love. I... I do know what I'm talking about.”

“I know,” Asta squeezed his arm. “But I wish Dorian were here.”

“For once we don’t agree,” Cullen laughed freely. “I don’t fancy the idea of Pippa ending up as a necromancer out of respect for her Uncle Dorian. You know he‘d make it far more attractive than any other option, just being his usual glamorous self.”

Max grinned, apparently in agreement, “You have a point, brother.  Dorian can make anything look good.  Even the undead.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, I have posted my first chapter of my society of rebellious archivists fic "Lights in the Shadow". I still think I might be crazy, trying to do something so... huge. But I'm going to give it a shot.
> 
> Updating will be sporadic to start.


	32. Stupid Journal

“I forgot to give you the books,” Pippa sighed that night, and handed one to Asta where she was trying to get comfortable on the ship’s berth, tired from two days of upheaval and pregnancy. “You need to read this one first.” She sat down on the berth, in front of the increasing bulge that was Asta‘s stomach, apparently planning to watch Asta do just that. “I could read it to you, if you like,” she offered, when Asta hesitated to open it. “I read the whole thing. It’s… my mother’s diary. Mum sent it with me to the Chantry. The Templars burnt all of them, other than what she took to send with me.” Pippa’s mouth was firm and stubborn. “They shouldn’t do that to books. It‘s just wrong, no matter what‘s in them.”

“Oh,” Asta felt completely inadequate, faced with the memoirs of her unknown sister. “Pippa, you know… I never got to meet your mother. Are you sure that you want me to… maybe your Uncle Max…”

“I know,” it didn’t seem to bother the child. “My friends say that you’re sad and angry that you didn’t know about her, or about me. They say you don’t like to seem ignorant or be wrong. It’s okay not to know things, Mum.”

“Your friends are right about that,” Asta laughed softly. “All right, I’ll read it,” she opened the book slowly.

The first entry was after Kirkwall.

 _9:37 Dragon_. Asta closed her eyes before beginning, remembering where she had been when she had heard - in the Chantry’s reading room in Ostwick. She, like so many others, had broken down. She re-opened her eyes, and began to read.

It was important to Pippa. She could do this, for her… daughter. And for the sister she would never know except through words on a page.

_I don’t even know who to address this to. ‘Dear Diary’ like an adolescent girl? Myself? Fuck, this is idiotic._

_I’m only starting this stupid journal because First Enchanter Rivella says it’s a good idea to record dreams you have more than once. And yeah, now that the Chantry in Kirkwall has exploded, and it looks like things are getting hairy all over Thedas for mages (Thanks a lot, Anders, whoever you are - you might have meant well, but you‘ve certainly put the pressure on for those of us who weren‘t doing so bad), I figure it might be a good idea at that._

_Because I knew it was coming, but I didn’t realize that’s what the spirits were trying to tell me. Perhaps if I had known, I could have done something._

_A whole lot of mages will probably be a lot better off going to war. Mother may not have intended my life to be easy, and I’m definitely not the most brilliant mage in this Tower, but I’m smart enough to know that my life in Dairsmuid is a whole lot fucking better than it would have been in the Ostwick Circle, if she hadn’t been so humiliated by my existence._

_Shit, she’s such an ignorant asshole._

_Anyway, I dreamt about a Chantry exploding for years, a ton of red light and rocks spiraling up into the sky, and a single mage - maybe the one responsible, given the whispers about that ‘Anders’ - being killed by a crying woman (maybe the Champion of Kirkwall?). I dream a lot of odd things, and I’m not sure which are true or not. But Enchanter Rivella says that if I ask, the spirits can help me tell the difference._ _It’s worth a shot. All I can do is try._

 _So last night, I dreamt about a little girl. She was dark, like most of the people around here, but had my eyes and looked a bit like I remember Max. She looked at me, but didn’t say a word. Not sure why a spirit would take on the appearance of a Rivaini child with my eyes, but… well, she was beautiful. Prettier than I’ve ever been. Wonder if my father ever had a bastard or something?_ _Not likely though. The rod up his ass is far too straight._

_Shithead._

_That was the whole thing, but since it was so bloody vivid, I figured I’d write it down. I feel like an idiot now. Thanks, First Enchanter. Hope you’re happy._

_Laurel Trevelyan_

Asta skimmed over the next several entries, all recording random dreams, seemingly unconnected to anything else, until she found something that made her pause and go back and read slower again. Pippa was curled up against her in the berth now, reading along with her, almost as quickly as she could. How many times had she read this diary, searching for a connection with a mother she barely remembered?

_Had the dream about the little girl again. I asked her who she was and she told me that I was her mother. I told her that I didn’t have a daughter, but she said I would soon._

_Maybe my love life is going to pick up? I haven’t had anyone interested for something like five years (Maker, I‘ve lost count of_ years _. I need to get_ laid _.). Maybe I’ll go to Allsmet this year. I know Rivella would like me to be publicly acknowledged… even if I‘m not very good. But the last time I went, I woke up laying on top of some guy from the Imperium, with a hangover that lasted three days. That wine was great stuff, though. Wish I could remember what it was. The label was blue, but that’s all I remember. Nice guy, I think. It was fun, that’s for sure. Can’t remember his name at all. I think he might have been a merchant?_

_But maybe I’ll go this year. It would be nice to blow off some steam, right? And I feel awkward getting involved with anyone here in the Circle. It goes so wrong when you break up, and they find someone else so quickly._

_I know Estefania thinks I’m ridiculous, but she has her Templar, so sorry, Esti, I think I’ll stick to one night stands with people I don’t know. It’s just… easier. I’m a big fan of easy. Easy is safe._

The next entry was a week later.

_Well, Allsmet was as fun as always.. I think. I did get really drunk, as one does at Allsmet, but I met this gorgeous man. His name was… damn… and I remembered it last night. I would have liked to get to know him better. I told his fortune… but I fudged it a bit. I told him he would have a daughter in the next year. He didn’t seem to mind the idea, and immediately stepped up the flirting. Asked me if her mother was as lovely as I was. Smooth talker._

_I figured, fuck, if I’m going to have a kid, I should at least get to choose the father right? He was just my type. Just a merchant, I’m sure. So many pass through here this time of year, trying to get their business deals blessed. He had really great hair. I mean, fabulous hair, all dark and wild with curls, almost hiding those ears (Maker, they were sensitive…), and a fucking long... Shit, I wish I could remember his_ name _. I remember everything else!_

_But if he cares, I’m sure he knows where to find me. He knew I was a Seer, after all. At least he wasn’t a Templar, or another mage of the Circle. This way is better._

_But I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so alone._

Asta looked at her daughter, and put her arm around her awkwardly, pulling her closer. “That was my father,” the girl confirmed. “I think I might have his hair. It’s annoying. I need to ask Da how he gets his to behave. Mum‘s was like yours, but a lot darker, and not so straight. She kept it short, because it was easier. Mum liked easy, I guess.” She paused, “He might have been an elf, I suppose, but Mum never says straight out.” Pippa looked at Asta, tense, but Asta didn’t react, so she relaxed. “Guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Not at all,” Asta murmured, and kept reading.

The next entry was some weeks later.

_Well, I’ve stopped having the dreams, but I’m definitely pregnant. So I guess that one was real. Shit. I think I’ll name her after Grandfather Philip. He tried to convince Mother and Father not to send me away, that they could hide my abilities. I don’t particularly want to be hidden, but… it was a better suggestion than anyone else had… except for Max._

_Max tried to convince me to run away before the Templars came. He was so brave. Braver than me. Philippa Maxine. That’s it. I wonder if Max ever thinks about me. Sometimes I think about finding him, now that the Towers are falling one by one (seems like we hear about a new one every few days - did that Anders know he was starting a war?) but if I found out that he’s turned out like Mother or Father… my heart would break. Better to leave it, I think. Even if it means I’m a coward._

There was a gap of several months before the entries resumed.

_So I’ve agreed to allow a spirit to enter me, and then be banished afterward, to help with a local harvest festival. Estefania and First Enchanter Rivella think it’ll be okay, and Esti’s fine after her recent experience - so I’m going through with it. The Chantry can’t be right about everything, after all. Lots of mages do this here. And I’m a little tired of hiding in the Tower all the time, as if I’m ashamed of who I am._

And then the next, with the aftermath.

_That did not go quite as planned. I believe that the spirit that inhabited me was nearly corrupted. I don’t know if I was too angry, or what, but it did not want to leave. (Maybe because I feel so alone?) Esti and Rivella have taken care of it, with the help of a crap-ton of lyrium, but they say… it might have impacted my daughter._

_Damn it, Pippa, I’m sorry. I’m already a shitty mom and you aren’t even here yet. Sometimes I think I can still hear the spirit whispering at me. I hope it’s really gone. I’m working harder at staying calm now. I must show some control, lest it control me._

_I’m doing a lot of research on what happens to mothers who are possessed while pregnant. Not much to say about them, as you can imagine - other Towers just kill them out of hand - Maker, I‘m glad I live where I do - but I’m piecing together some things, reading between the lines. Guess she’ll be a mage. So much for hoping you’ll take after your papa, Pippa girl. Sorry. At least Dairsmuid isn’t that bad a place to be a mage. They won’t take you away from me at birth, for one._

_Kind of looking forward to the company, honestly. Didn’t realize how alone I’d let myself get. Esti is a real friend, but she has Andrew… though there are mutters about them now. Some of the Sisters at the Chantry have been talking about reporting him for fraternization. Maker, I hate the fucking Chantry. That Anders had the right of it when he blew it up. If Dairsmuid's wasn’t a joke I’d blow it up too._

_I really need to work on staying calmer. I don’t want my daughter to remember me as angry all the fucking time._

Asta took a deep breath. “It’s not all bad,” Pippa comforted her. “She says nice things, later on, after I was born. I made her happy. And yeah, I’m a mage. I know that. Always have. Spirits find me, talk to me, even if I can‘t summon elements yet. But Mum did her research. When the Seekers and Templars came from Ayesleigh, Mum had already hidden me in the Chantry. She had dreams, knew they were coming, but… other than Enchanter Estefania, who had a kid, too, no one wanted to believe her. Mum wasn’t known for the strength of her talents. And she wasn’t from here, she was noble, once, but didn‘t look like she was. Didn’t have any piercings, or anything like the nobles do here. People didn’t like that she was different. They didn’t want to believe her.” Pippa sniffed. “Stupid, really.” Asta could only nod. “So when they came, I was safe, and Estefania had sent her son away with the Armada, with the First Enchanter‘s help. The Mother got some of the other kids out at the last second but not all of them. She still feels bad.”

“All the Circles fell. Dairsmuid was one of the last,” Asta explained softly. “And one of the worst.” Pippa nodded. “A year later, the Conclave exploded, and from what I understand from a friend, Ser Andrew was there. He didn’t know where his son was. He died, looking for him.”

“Oh,” Pippa said softly. “I was hoping that he found him. He was older than me. I hope he’s happy.”

“Me, too,” Asta replied, and tucked Pippa closer. “I hope you’ll be happy with us.”

Pippa snorted, “I already am happy. Better than the stinking Chantry. Steben was my only friend, and only because he was scared of me.” She paused, “They were all scared of me. Are you… scared of me?” The child was holding her breath, her eyes wide.

Asta looked at her, eyes crinkling at the edges, “I’ve seen a lot of scary things in the last few years. You aren’t one of them. You’re just a little girl. But we’re going to find you a teacher, so that you can learn what you can do, and how to keep yourself safe. Is that all right?”

“Yes, please,” Pippa snuggled in. “They burnt the Circle’s library, you know. I wasn’t old enough to read, then. I read a lot at the Chantry, but they really like their martyrs.” Asta nearly choked, remembering saying something similar at her age. “I’m a bit tired of being preached at, though the Sisters were nice. They were scared, but still tried to be nice to my face.”

“That’s good,” Asta murmured, and then smiled, closed the book and changed the subject. “So, Pippa, can I ask you about your brother?”

Pippa snickered, “I knew you’d believe me. Yes, I know he’s a boy. My friends can see him. I don’t know much more, but he’s going to be loud. Really loud. He’s already loud, you see.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Asta said regretfully. “Can you help me understand what you mean by ‘loud‘? Will he be a mage?” She wondered if the mark had somehow changed her fundamentally - since it was removed, her dreams weren’t nearly as vivid, but… there might be a correlation.

Pippa thought for a minute, and then shrugged. “Don’t know. My friends say he doesn’t feel different, so he’s not like me. But I think Mum thought me being like this was her fault, and you haven’t been possessed, so it’s probably fine. Maybe he‘ll be a mage like other mages? I don‘t know.”

“How do you know about Rhys? I‘m pretty sure he‘s never been to Rivain.”

Pippa hesitated, “Promise you won’t be scared?”

Asta looked at her seriously, “Promise.”

“My friends told me. They find people like us... Just to talk. They like to talk, even when you don’t understand. Not many people take the time just to chat like they used to. But they say Rhys has control that I don’t have, and that I need to learn it. They told me that the wolf was taking people home, too, and that he’s… different. Not exactly, but close?” The child sighed. “I don’t know the words. They argued with each other about whether or not they needed to send me to learn or to try to teach me themselves. Do you know anything about the Avvar?”

Asta chuckled, “A little bit. I know a nice lady that knows a lot, but she‘s not a mage. You‘ll have to meet her. Sister Dorcas will love you.”

“Hmm, then if Rhys won’t teach me, maybe that’s an option.” Pippa frowned, “But Da won’t like it. He’ll want someone Circle-trained, won’t he? Cause he was like Ser Andrew, once, right? A Templar?”

“You‘re probably right,” Asta admitted. “But lets not worry about it yet. We have to get home - and we promised we’d visit Starkhaven first. I‘ll write to Skyhold and see if they can have Rhys meet us there. I‘ll know in a few weeks if he‘s willing or not.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Pippa said, pleased. “Now, if you can ask Da what he uses on his hair, I’ll have everything I need.” And Asta laughed and squeezed her tighter.

“Let’s go find him now. I bet he’ll blush.”

***

_Dear Lace,_

_I’m afraid I’m going to have to have you recall Rhys and Evangeline from their current mission and have them, if possible, meet us in Starkhaven. Tell Rhys that I need to ask him a couple of questions about his mother. I know it’s a little bit of a misuse of resources, but I’m coming away from my recent trip to Rivain with a newfound niece/daughter, and I think she really needs to talk to Rhys._

_I’m sure your agents have filled you in to some degree, but just in case: She’s almost eight, dark hair and Cullen says her eyes are like mine, with a dark complexion, calls herself Pippa. If you can have a few people keep an eye out for her specifically when Cullen and I aren’t around, I’d appreciate it. So would he. Poor man spends enough time worrying._

_She is my sister’s daughter. And no, I didn’t realize I had a sister. But Leliana knew, because Max knew. Did you know? Because we found her daughter about half a day after landing in Dairsmuid. She wasn’t exactly hidden. She could have fucking been with us since HAVEN, if Leliana’s agents had done their job. Who was in charge of Rivain around then, anyway?_

_I’m not holding you specifically responsible - she’s with us now, after all - but if I had fucking KNOWN…_

_Forgive me. I’ll write again later, when I feel more reasonable and less angry._

_My apologies,_

_Asta_

***

_Dear Inquisitor,_

_You’re really scary when you‘re angry, even when it’s just in a letter. Do you remember the whole Butler debacle? When he killed Farrier?_

_Yeah, Farrier was in charge of Dairsmuid. Sorry, Asta. I know that you told the Divine that she couldn’t kill Butler. Sorry about how that went down. Farrier was an awesome guy. He would have done a good job. One of Leliana’s best._

_I’m really sorry. Please don’t have me killed. I’m glad you found her. Please don’t yell anymore?_

_Kenric says ‘Hi’ and that it isn’t my fault, so you should quit yelling through your letters. Also, to tell you that Colette is being formally recognized as a co-author of his next book. She’s so proud, she’s liable to burst. They’re both visiting here for a bit, restocking and meeting with some colleagues. It’s nice to see him. Been a few months since the last time._

_I hear congratulations are in order. Maybe that’s why you are so pissed off? Let me know if I can do anything, in any case._

_Rhys and Evangeline have already been recalled. Should meet you in Starkhaven. You don’t get one of them without the other._

_Sincerely,_

_Lace Harding_

***

Asta stared at the letter, as if she could change what it said. “Cullen… do you remember what happened to Butler?”

“The defecting agent?” Cullen frowned, “He died there, in the avalanche.”

“Good,” Asta’s eyes narrowed, and she cast her eyes towards a sleeping Pippa. “Because otherwise, I would kill him myself. He’s the reason we didn’t know about Pippa back in Haven, Cullen.”

“Well, Leliana did want to kill him then. She probably had reason, and it might have been the same as yours.” Cullen hesitated, “I always wondered why you stopped her. He was a security risk.”

“Because we needed ideals more than security, and I didn‘t want our Inquisition to have the same reputation as Ameridan‘s.” Asta sighed, defeated, and tried to get comfortable on the narrow berth. “Damn, I’m ready to be off this ship. I want a real bed. Did the Admiral say how long until Kirkwall?”

“Two more days,” Cullen murmured. “We passed between Ostwick and Brandel’s Reach today while you were sleeping.” Asta was silent at the name of her hometown. Cullen took a deep breath, and prepared mentally for an argument, “Do you want to let your parents know?”

Asta sneered, “About what? That their true heir is the daughter of a disowned mage born out of wedlock to an unknown father? Cullen, you met my mother. Do you honestly think they would acknowledge her?” Cullen was silent now, but Asta couldn‘t tell if it was critical silence or an approving one. “Surely they made their choice,” Asta finally laid her head down, and watched Pippa sleep. “If Max wants to let them know, he can. But I’m not going to tell them anything.” She paused, “I care too much about Pippa to even take that chance.” She teared up, then, and exasperated, wiped the tears away. “Maker, I hate pregnancy,” she sniffled. “Damn it, Cullen, hold me.”

Cullen obediently wrapped his arm around her and did just that.

He probably would have told them, but it wasn’t his decision to make.

***

Asta’s next letter was a lot more difficult. She hadn’t written to the Divine since… “Cullen, you don’t want to write to Leliana, do you?”

“Not a chance,” Cullen laughed while he turned down the honor. “But you need to, love. You promised.” Asta nodded, morose.

“Yeah, I know.” She scowled at the blank parchment and picked up the quill.

 

_Most Holy,_

_I have recently discovered the existence of a niece - the daughter to a sister I never knew I had._

_As a result, I need to offer my thanks for your attempt to help my brother locate our sister back in Haven. Possibly I also owe you an apology for my insistence that you not kill Butler - given that his defection led to my niece spending the subsequent years in the Chantry Home in Dairsmuid instead of with her family. (Of course, Pippa was spared the nightmare that was Haven… so in some ways, that might be a gift.)_

_But you tried for Max‘s sake, and I’m trying to set aside my bitterness and let you know that the Dairsmuid Chantry needs… everything. I don’t know if you could manage a visit - your travel schedule is probably bad enough, and you’ll always be needed in Val Royeaux, but…_

_We arrived to find holes in the roof and doors hanging off their hinges, broken windows sealed with parchment - they lacked even nails to board up the holes. Most of the damage was caused after the annulment of the Circle, by locals taking out their anger on the Chantry itself, once its protectors were gone. Hawke and our friend, Petri, patched the roof up with materials they found laying around. The Mother was worried about security to the extent that they were carrying the fucking matches for the candles around with them, lest they be stolen. The children in the home were inadequately clothed for the cooler months, and while it was obvious that what little the Chantry had went into their care, they had far, far too little to do an effective job._

_Cullen and I did what we could - donated what funds we could spare in gratitude for my niece’s life - but they need you to do something. I don’t remember the Rivaini Grand Cleric being a bad sort - but I see why she doesn’t go home often if this is what she has waiting for her when she gets there. I may hate Chantries, Leliana, but this was the most depressing one (and possibly the only one that actually was doing its job) I’ve ever been in._

_If, as you say, the Chantry is a charitable institution, Leliana, then you need to start in Rivain. Now._

_And I suppose, if you could use the assistance of the Inquisition, I… will offer what agents we have locally. Again, in gratitude and recognition that the Revered Mother of the Dairsmuid Chantry kept my niece alive until I could find her and bring her home._

_Thank you for trying to find my sister in Haven. I know that it meant a lot to Max._

_Pippa sends her thanks as well._

_Sincerely,_

_Inquisitor Asta Rutherford_

 


	33. Namesakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW about a third of the way through.

Kirkwall looked almost bustling when they landed. Pippa’s eyes widened, and she laughed out loud. “Oh, they _sing_!” She smiled wide at something no one else could hear. “I can see why the wolf likes it,” she told Hawke with great excitement. “They make it beautiful.” The grimy city docks were anything but beautiful, but they were at least busy again, instead of empty.

“Hmmm,” Hawke replied. The mage had started teaching Pippa a few things on the ship about control and meditation, and weighed her comments carefully before continuing. “It’s an improvement, I agree. But I hope you aren‘t talking to that wolf in your sleep, Pip. Your… friends are one thing, though you should be cautious, even with them, but…”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” the child replied. “I think… I scare him, or something.” Hawke‘s eyebrows went up, impressed. “I’m not like him, but I’m not like anyone else, either.” She smiled up at the mage, “You know, I bet you’d like being a dragon more than you like being a princess.”

The mage choked. “How did you know…” She bit off her words, knowing the answer before she could finish.

“My friends told me,” the kid pressed her lips together, smugly. “Maybe you’ll still get your chance?” She looked back at the ship and waved good-bye to the Admiral, as Cullen and Asta disembarked, Asta more visibly pregnant now, and both adults encumbered with luggage. “Are you traveling with us to Starkhaven, Princess Hawke?”

Cullen snorted in derision at the name, and Hawke laughed outright. “You’re more of a princess than I am, Pip. Your parents have a castle and everything. But yes, I‘m going with you. I promised… I promised my prince I would keep your family safe.”

“It doesn’t belong to them, and Starkhaven has a palace. Mum was reading to me about it. Princesses live in palaces, too,” Pippa corrected, precisely. “And you’re married to a prince. So you’re Princess Hawke.”

Cullen watched the Champion chuckle, and then saw her hold out her hand, “You’re the only one allowed to call me that.” Pippa shook her hand solemnly and upon release, the child slid her hand into Cullen’s to walk back to the house. “See you soon, Pippa. Let me know when you are ready to leave, Cullen, Asta.”

“Will do, Hawke. It'll be a couple of days, at the least, I'm sure,” Cullen tossed over his shoulder. “And thanks again. For everything.”

***

Asta was getting used to the double takes now, when people met her daughter for the first time, but Pippa was starting to get annoyed at the repetition of the explanations. “Why do they care?” She asked Cullen at last, from her cross-legged position on the floor in front of him as he combed out her hair before bed that night.

“Because you look more like your Mum then either of you realize,” Cullen replied. “And yet you look completely like yourself, too.” He rubbed the curl relaxing potion into the girl's hair, down to her scalp. “That makes some people rude. If they are rude, tell me or your mother, and we’ll take care of it. There…” he finished with the liquid, and picked up the comb to remove the last of the snarls from the ends.

Pippa frowned, “You won’t kill anyone, will you?” Cullen hesitated. “Da…”

“Not unless they’re really bad people,” Cullen said softly and truthfully. “Your Mum tries not to kill anyone that doesn’t deserve it.”

Pippa sat very still. “She’s killed a lot of people. Did they all deserve it?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen admitted reluctantly. “But I believe that she tries to do the right thing. So do I, now. But we both have had to make hard decisions sometimes. I can't say for certain that we've always been right.” Pippa turned suddenly and cupped his cheek.

“Da, you are a good person,” she said softly. “My friends say so. Why won’t you forgive yourself?”

“Because…” Cullen was surprised into telling the whole truth, “Because I’m afraid if I forgive myself, I’ll forget. I can’t afford to forget who I was. I don‘t deserve to forget.”

“You can let it loose,” Pippa insisted, eyes darker than usual. “And still remember. But Da… let it go. Mum, and I, and my brother are here, and we all love you.” Cullen froze, and set down the comb gently on the floor.

“Your… brother loves me?” He asked very quietly. “Pippa, how do you know that?”

Pippa bit her lips in that oh-so-familiar gesture, and smiled, making dimples show in brown cheeks. “He’s very loud. He knows your voice, and loves it. It makes him happy when you talk.” And then she kissed his cheek, “I love you, too,” and ran off to bed before he could repeat the sentiment.

Asta found him sitting in the chair, the comb still on the floor by his feet, when she came upstairs a few minutes later. She walked over, a little worried at how still he was. Cullen reached out blindly and pulled her in, to rest his head against the swell of her stomach. “I love you,” he choked out, unsure who he was addressing in that moment.

Asta laughed, “I love you, too. What brought this on?”

Cullen hesitated, but tried to explain, the words tripping over each other in equal parts frustration and eagerness to be free of their weight. “One of the reasons I stopped taking lyrium was because I didn’t deserve to forget. To slip into the forgetfulness of the aged Templar, where I wouldn’t remember who I was, or what I had done would have been a mercy. I didn’t deserve the _peace_ that comes with forgetfulness.” Asta, frozen at the admission, reached out with her hand to stroke his hair, her eyes saddened. “I thought I deserved the torture of lyrium withdrawals, and the death that might follow, because of what had happened, what I allowed to happen all around me. Asta, I…” he leaned back into her stomach. “I want to _deserve_ you, and Pippa, and our… son. And I never can. But Pippa says I don’t need to forget to move on…to accept that you all love who I am now… and... I’m wondering if she’s... right.”

“She is…” Asta whispered. “I don’t know how she knows, but she knows.” Cullen lifted his head up from her stomach and spread his hand over the bump that was his son.

“I will forgive myself, for all of you,” he promised quietly. “For all of you, I will try.” A swift flutter, gone as quickly as a thought, came to the other side of his hand, and he spread his fingers slightly, trying to find it again. “Asta, was that...”

“Ser Rutherford, that was your son,” Asta giggled. “I think he approves.”

Cullen smiled, wide and beautiful. “I will try,” he repeated again.

***

The next morning, Asta woke early, from an extremely erotic dream, and rolled over, slightly more ponderously than usual, to face her husband, still fast asleep. She still hesitated to wake him like this, even after years of marriage, always worried that it would be too much, despite Cullen's protests to the contrary. But today... she bit her lips and made a decision.

“Cullen…” she murmured liltingly, and slid her hand downwards over the still taut planes of his stomach, and grasped his cock deliberately, already slightly swollen with morning blood flow.

He jerked awake at the first touch. “Love? I…” he grunted when she started to stroke him. “That feels…”

“Interested, then?” Asta asked lightly. “With the tight quarters and our… company on the trip back, it has been a while…”

 _“Very,”_ Cullen choked out, cutting her off before she could get her lecture started. Asta maneuvered herself over him as he rolled to his back. “But you… are you…” he stopped, already able to feel how slick she was underneath.

“Already taken care of,” Asta laughed, and slid him inside. “You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had…” It hadn't been vivid as much as full of sensation, full of hands and whispered words in Cullen's voice - a bit naughtier than he usually managed to be in bed, but just this side of believable.

“I see,” Cullen laughed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and trying to focus on where he found himself. “All the foreplay done for me in the Fade? That‘s... convenient.”

“Mmmhmm,” Asta started to rock slowly, enjoying the different sensations that being pregnant had on the position. “I’ve been having some very interesting dreams lately. Some are just bizarre, some are scary, but some are nice. _Really_ nice.”

“Should I be jealous?” Cullen asked teasingly, that particular emotion the furthest thing from his mind.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Asta gasped. “You feature heavily in most of them.”

“Only most?” He reached his hand up to gently cup her breast, stroking very softly, aware she was all too sensitive there lately.

“It is the Fade, love,” Asta moaned. “I can’t control it.” Cullen laughed, and swept his hands around to hold her ass instead.

“An excellent excuse…” Cullen murmured, and thrust up abruptly. “I find I don’t really care, as long as I get the benefit of… the exercise, afterward?” He watched her, lazily rocking against him, slightly frustrated by the position. “Would you like to try something… different?”

Asta opened one eye, glinting eagerly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Lay down,” Cullen urged, and Asta pulled herself off him - a little reluctantly. Cullen positioned his heels under her sides, and maneuvered himself, lifting her hips to fit against him, and draped her legs over his thighs, and slid back in, slowly, in case it was too much. “Comfortable?” He ran a hand down her belly until he reached between her thighs, stroking her gently. 

“It’s… intense,” Asta panted. “Gentle?”

“Always,” Cullen groaned, and started to move, rocking back on his hands in order to glide up into her. Asta watched his stomach bend and arc backwards, enjoying the play of the muscles curving down to his cock, partially blocked by her own belly.

“Mmmm,” she managed with difficulty. “Cullen, that’s…” A knock at the door interrupted her comment.

“Mum? Da? Are you up?”

Pippa sounded excited.

“We’ll… be a few minutes!” Asta called out, and then gasped as Cullen went slightly deeper, hitting her cervix. “Head downstairs to breakfast, Pippa?”

“Alright…” the little girl's voice fell, evidently disappointed. “I just… I had this dream, and…”

“Just a few minutes!” Cullen groaned audibly, trying not to curse given their audience, but completely unable to stop, as Asta shushed him. “We’ll be right there!”

“Sorry,” he panted, quietly. “Asta… I…” his breath caught in his chest, his face haggard and desperate.

Asta’s moans escaped her lips, and every thrust was a sound. “Oh, oh, oh,” they grew higher and higher as she got closer to her peak. “Cull-en…” she whined, shaking uncontrollably.

With the sound of his name he swelled, and erupted, dragging her right along with him, seismic ripples crossing the tightened skin of her stomach. “Shit,” Asta whispered, laughing, but quietly, glowing bright red in embarrassment and with her release. “Tell me that Pippa didn’t hear…”

“I’m still here, Mum,” the little girl sounded suspicious. “Were you…”

“Just a couple of minutes, Pippa,” Cullen slid out and rolled over, kissing Asta gently on the lips between sentences. “I swear, we’ll be right down. And then we‘ll listen to your dream. I promise.”

“Okay,” the girl sounded slightly happier. “It was a good one. I don‘t want you to worry.” She paused, “It sounds like Mum had a good one too?”

Cullen’s eyes went round, and he buried his head in the pillow, shoulders shaking, while Asta covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Don’t worry, Mum!” Pippa called out, a little too loud, “I don’t pry. Other people’s dreams are off limits. My friends say so. It‘s only polite.” She paused, "I'm going downstairs now. Sorry."

“Thank the Maker for small mercies,” Cullen grumbled into the bedding after a moment. "I'd hate to have to explain some of my dreams, if she was eavesdropping on them."

“Let’s do that again,” Asta laughed, and maneuvered herself over to kiss his bare shoulder. “Just perhaps… without the audience?” The baby kicked her abruptly. "Oof, I think Your son agrees."

“As if we can ever control those,” Cullen lifted his head, beet-red under his tan, and laid his hand on her stomach, eager to feel his son again. “Something tells me that our days of interruption-free sex are nearly at an end.” Asta guided his hand to a more appropriate location, and he was rewarded with a soft flutter.

“We’ll figure something out,” Asta promised, tilting her head against her pillow. “At least I remembered to lock the door?”

***

“We’re not naming him after my family,” Asta put her foot down that evening. “My sister pulled the only two names I would ever use, with the exception of William. My older cousin, Philliam, the bard, was Philip William, after my grandfather and… I think his mother‘s great-grandfather. I can’t remember the mnemonics. Not my family line, in my defense. Nice guy, but I’m not crazy about William as a name. So he needs his own name.”

Cullen nodded, and tugged his shirt off over his head, unsurprised at her vehemence. Asta’s eyes followed the curves of his muscles, and the dark line on his neck from where his armor began and the tan line ended. “But what about Dorian?”

“What about him?” Asta’s eyes glinted, revving up for the argument they both knew was coming over this very issue.

“Not the man, the name. You know Dorian wants…”

“He should get used to disappointment,” Asta smirked. “I hate the name Dorian. It’s terrible. I don‘t love Dorian the person enough to use a name that I despise. I present to you the name Dorcas, if he was a she.”

“We’re in agreement on that one, at least. But I…” Cullen sighed, “I might have promised him I would try to persuade you.” He reached out and pulled her in, gently, an unspoken apology sketched across his face.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” Asta scolded, with a pout. “What does he have on you, anyway? He‘s been making comments about this _forever_. Obviously he has his heart set on our baby being a Dorian, and he talks like it‘s inevitable. Confess, Cullen.”

Cullen flushed, “Do you remember the first day we played chess? In the garden? Just before we… kissed?”

“Yes, of course I do, I…” Asta blinked, “Cullen? What are you trying to say?”

“He may have been… coaching me,” Cullen looked at the ceiling. “From the bushes. On what to say and do, to save me from ruining my chance at what has become the most wonderful relationship of my life.” His throat went from brown to nearly maroon in a few seconds, as he found the copper ceiling tile design strangely fascinating.

“No…” Asta denied, smirking, “Tell me you didn’t promise the narcissistic magister your firstborn child in order to win over the love of your life. We‘re not in that story, Ser Knight.”

Cullen laughed, and let his gaze fall back to his wife, still red with embarrassment, “Well, not completely. But I did say I would try…” he pulled her closer, and leaned against her forehead. “Does this count as trying? The next time you talk to Dorian will you tell him that I put up a good fight and lost to the better woman?” He peered up wistfully. “It’s not like I’m crazy about the name, either.”

“No,” Asta smiled softly. “I won’t. We won’t use Dorian, but we’ll… we’ll compromise. What do you think about Ian? Ian Magnus? I do owe him… if he prodded and coached you along until you were brave enough to make a move.” She shook her head, still leaning against him. “You should have told me!”

“I couldn’t find a way to admit I was clueless and fumbling,” Cullen said sheepishly, and paused, frowning, “But, Magnus? Where’d you get that?”

“Book in Minrathous,” Asta hedged cautiously.

“Ian Rutherford,” Cullen said slowly. “It doesn’t sound bad. Not too odd for a Fereldan township. Ian Magnus Rutherford?” He winced, but only slightly.

“And then we’ll call him Magnus,” Asta said immediately, pulling back, and heading towards the bed to turn it down. “So that Dorian’s head doesn’t swell. He'll be worse than Bull trying to fit through narrow doors if it gets any bigger.”

“No, we’re calling him Pup,” Cullen countered, flopping on the other half, naked and comfortable, without bothering with the formal turndown. Asta’s eyes narrowed, in calculation, not anger. “Don’t I get a say about the middle name? At all?” His puppy dog eyes had no effect for once.

“You signed over your naming rights to the narcissistic evil magister,” Asta criticized. “All to the better, if your idea of a good nickname is still ‘Pup’. Even Dorian‘s ego has better name ideas than you do. Thank the Maker Dane named himself.” She shifted herself awkwardly onto the bed, and turned to her side to face him.

“Your naming taste leans towards Magnus,” Cullen argued. “That’s a horrible name. At least in the middle it won’t be dragged into the light of day too often, but…” he rolled towards her, hoping for a kiss.

Asta pulled back, “Stanton,” she flashed.

"I had no input on my names," Cullen grinned, knowing he would win this argument, once and for all. “Beatrix. Andraste…”

“Shut up,” Asta lunged towards him, as graceful as a seal on dry land, and covered his mouth with her hand. “Those aren’t my names any longer, Ser Knight.” Cullen grinned around her hand. “I’m Asta, now. It’s legal, or nearly so. As legal as Josie can manage, anyway.”

“At least I wasn’t named after an Orlesian Divine and the Maker‘s Bride. I have a perfectly good surname - my mother’s maiden name - in the middle. It’s even respectable. The Stantons were good people, until the Blight wiped them out.” He looked regretful, as he always did when discussing Honnleath.

“Oh, that is a good reason to use a surname,” Asta eyebrows drew in, and she frowned thoughtfully. “But I won’t use Trevelyan. Not for any reason. Pavus is even worse than Dorian. And I like Magnus.” She pouted a bit, “You don’t really hate it, do you? If you truly hate it we can keep looking… What's your brother's middle name?”

"Already used. It's Peter. And I don't really hate it,” Cullen admitted, swinging his hands up behind his head. “Magnus is odd, but at least it’s not Petrinius, or Ferdinand. I'd draw the line at naming him after Brother Genitivi. I haven't forgotten your crush.”

Asta’s face lit up, in inspiration, “We could use Cassius! Ian Magnus Cassius! For Cassandra!” Cullen groaned.

“What if Pup has a lisp? A name like that would be torture! And two ‘Vint names in the middle? Why don‘t you just shout ,’My Best Friend is a Magister!’ to all of South Reach?” Asta huffed, and sat up, with difficulty.

“We should ask Pippa if Magnus likes it. And we‘re not calling him Pup!”

“He doesn’t speak to her,” Cullen argued wisely. “Surely it’s just emotions, and…” Asta shrugged. “Not Cassius, at least. Go for… Caspian? Or…” he ran out of ideas. “You could use Pentaghast?” He asked the last, nearly desperately.

“Absolutely not, Cass would hate that. There are enough Pentaghasts in the world already.” Asta thought again, “Of course, she hates her long name. She probably wouldn’t appreciate us throwing hers into our son’s, in any form.”

Cullen nodded in complete agreement. “You could drop Magnus, and just use hers… Ian Cassius isn’t _that_ bad… no worse than Stanton, and definitely better than Andraste.”

“Nope, I want Magnus,” Asta grinned. “I do have a reason.”

Cullen eyed her suspiciously, “And that reason is?”

“Not telling,” she bit her lip and smiled slyly. “Maybe after he’s born. If you're nice to me.”

"Fine," Cullen gave in. "Ian Magnus, nicknamed 'Pup', it is." Asta nudged him with a foot. "None of that, Inquisitor. With a name like that, he's going to need to look normal around his friends. 'Pup' is normal." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting a one off (I swear this is a one off, not like the novelette that Finding Dorian became.) about Cullen's first days in Kirkwall, to finish up my fic a day in May today.
> 
> Read the tags, please, before reading it!


	34. Faith as a Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole short chapter full of fluff!

“You weren’t just going to leave without stopping to say ‘Hello?’” Varric was behind the door when Asta opened it, expecting Cullen with his arms full of supplies. “To me? To Cass?” He held up his daughter, plumper than ever, and dimples evident even without smiling. “To Squirt?”

“I thought you’d be busy,” Asta started to protest. “You do have a city to run, and we‘re on a short timeline - I assume Hawke actually wants to get back to Starkhaven sometime this age.”

“Unfortunately for Hawke, and possibly for Starkhaven, you’re right about the latter. But I’m never too busy to visit with old friends that have suddenly multiplied!” Varric laughed outright, and shook his head. “Asta, Asta, my old network is still functioning. Kirkwall is buzzing with the news - that the Inquisitor has a illegitimate mage daughter - the spitting image of her - that she traveled all the way to Rivain to rescue from the demands of the Qun. Or that her Templar husband’s profligate nature with mages resulted in a daughter, and that you, out of the kindness of your heart, have taken her in.” Varric raised an eyebrow skeptically, “Yeah, didn’t buy that one. Curly’s not the type, even he hadn’t been… inexperienced around the right time. And Hawke told me the truth, never fear. But those are the rumors. Now you can work with them.”

Asta shook her head, “People will believe anything.” But she smiled, as Cassandra turned the corner.

“Varric! You were supposed to wait! I was right behind you! Bran didn‘t need anything important…”

“It’s as hot as blazes out here,” Varric grinned, “You wouldn’t want Squirt to get overheated!”

“Hmph,” Cassandra observed Asta. “You look well, Inquisitor. Quite well.”

“So do you!” Cassandra was obviously back to full fighting fitness again, all trim muscles and sharp cheekbones. “You look better than ever!” Asta was a little envious. “I’m just… huge.”

“The armor fits again,” Cassandra admitted, a little shyly. “I have some tips for weaning once you…” she broke off. “Perhaps we should get Nadiya out of the sun. I think she’s looking a bit pink. Merrill spends a lot of time with her outside.”

“NO!” Nadiya beamed from Varric’s arms, squirming to get down. “No! No!”

Cassandra winced at the familiar repetition. “Get her inside. Quick, before Varric drops her.”

“I wouldn’t drop my precious girl,” Varric pouted, and then Nadiya kicked him, while arching over backwards.

“DOWN!”

“Ugh,” Cassandra uttered. “Inside. Now, dwarf. Before your daughter hurts herself being as stubborn as her father.”

Once indoors, Pippa was working steadily at a low table, frowning, with her hair tucked behind her slightly pointed ears, poring over a slim text and copying a paragraph from it carefully.

“Holy Shit,” Varric muttered, a little too audibly, and she looked up, confused, her eyes a thousand miles away.

“Shit!” Nadiya repeated gleefully, and wriggled some more until Varric put her down. Cassandra glared at her husband pointedly.

“Sorry, babe,” Varric apologized, as if by rote. “She heard it from you, first, though.” Nadiya pulled herself up on a chair and started cruising around the furniture, faster than any baby had a right to be.

“Pippa,” Asta started, trying to get the visit back on track. “I have some friends I want you to meet.”

Pippa sat back immediately, looking interested. “Faith…” she breathed reverently. Cassandra winced. “Sorry,” she shriveled a bit. “But… you,” her eyes unfocused just a little. “You glow a little. Faith really likes you. Did you know? Aunt Bernie doesn‘t glow like that…” she frowned, “I wonder why? She‘s a Seeker, too…”

“No, I didn’t,” Cassandra managed. “How.. Interesting.” Her forehead creased.

“Sorry, Mum,” Pippa‘s eyes flicked to Asta in worry. “I didn’t mean… I didn‘t mean to insult you…”

“It’s all right, Pippa,” Asta smiled. “I doubt she’s insulted. This is Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, the Hero of Orlais, Viscountess of Kirkwall…”

“Get on with it,” Cassandra grumped.

“And her husband, Varric Tethras…”

“ _The_ Varric Tethras?!” Pippa bounced up. “I’ve read the Tale of the Champion, and I have a few questions!”

It was Varric’s turn to wince, “I always have time for a fan. And that’s an increasingly common reaction. Go ahead. Just… don’t ask about Orsino or the Arishok, alright? I’m done answering about that. It all happened. With all the pillars and everything. And miscellaneous body parts coming together to form one massive abomination of a… thing.” Pippa’s face fell in disappointment at his deflection of her first and second questions. “Sorry, Seeds. You‘re too young for the details. What are you doing reading my books, anyway? They‘re meant for adults.” Cassandra snorted.

“Seeds?” Asta asked, confused, and seeing her daughter’s incipient arguments building at what should be considered ‘appropriate’ for her age, anxious to diffuse them.

“Sure, she’s your kid, you’ve got your whole flower thing, and her name has ’Pip’ in it,” Varric explained easily. “Seeds it is.”

“Right,” Asta shook her head, “In any case, Pippa, he’s also the Viscount of Kirkwall.”

Pippa remembered her manners and curtseyed, only slightly wobbly, her prepared arguments nearly forgotten. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She focused on him for a moment, and then, apparently satisfied, relaxed.

“Call me Varric,” the dwarf offered. “And that busybody is our Squirt.”

“Nadiya,” corrected Cassandra. “Her name is Nadiya.” The baby in question grinned at both her names, deepening her dimples, and giving her already pudgy cheeks rolls, and grabbed at the books on the low table, Asta moving them away just in time to a higher location.

“She’s…” Pippa marveled. “She dreams.” Her eyes were wide. “Hello,” she reached out a hand and the baby grasped a finger firmly, and then scooted back to the safety of her mother‘s leg, peeking out shyly.

“She does?” Varric stared down at his daughter. “Well, that would explain why she’s still not sleeping through the night.” He grinned, “Though it’s laughter lately, not tears. She just… wakes up laughing her head off. Like it’s the funniest thing she‘s ever seen, or I‘ve just hit my head on the underside of the desk.” He cleared his throat. “Not that that happens often.  And certainly not on purpose.”

“They like to make her laugh,” Pippa agreed. “She has such a pretty laugh.”

“Who?” Cassandra demanded, a little harshly. “Who is making her laugh?”

Pippa shrunk a bit, and looked at Asta, worried. “Mum?”

“Tell her, sweetheart,” Asta urged her. “Cassandra won’t hurt you. She’s not that kind of Seeker. I promise.”

Cassandra realized all at once the nature of Pippa‘s timidity, “I’m sorry,” she managed stiffly. “I just… I want to understand.”

“My… friends say Nadiya likes to dream with… wisps, mainly, though they are on their way to becoming Humor spirits. They play together, and she laughs when they do silly things,” Pippa nearly whispered, and Asta came to stand behind her, in silent support.

“Wisps,” Cassandra relaxed. “That’s… not so bad.”

“She doesn’t want to see the bad ones either,” Pippa replied solemnly. “You don’t fear her. Don’t fear them. Fear makes everything worse. You know that. Faith helps.”

Cassandra blinked. “You are right.” She paused, and continued, “Is Faith what…”

“Mmhmm,” Pippa smiled, feeling better. “Faith keeps the bad ones away.  Like a... like Da's shield. That’s good, since you meet a lot of bad ones.”

“Not out of choice,” Cassandra answered, extremely dryly. “It’s in my line of work.” She paused. “Perhaps the next time you are in Kirkwall you could visit me at the Gallows, and meet some other Seekers. I would like to see if… they glow, as well?”  Asta's eyebrows lifted thoughtfully.

“If Da says it‘s okay. He says the Gallows isn‘t a place for children,” Pippa agreed. Varric snorted.

Cullen meandered back in, dumping his purchases on the table in the entry. “I don’t think we’re going to get out of town today, love,” he started, without looking into the adjoining room. “You should probably send a message to Max and Bernie, let them know that we’ll be here another night, and Hawke as well.”

“Hawke knows,” Varric called over, winking at Pippa, who grinned.

“Hawke knows if you know,” Cullen agreed, laughing immediately, and clasped Varric’s arm with a half grin. “Varric.”

“Curly,” Varric grinned roguishly. “Fatherhood suits you. So does shopping.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Petri says that Pippa shouldn’t skip schooldays. She’s a bit behind in some areas, and needs to catch up. Asta’s better at helping her…” he blushed. “And I needed to get out and get some air.”

“At least we got to see you briefly, before you left town,” Cassandra said stiffly. “Inquisitor, your next trip, I will be ready to accompany you.”

“That would be lovely, Cass,” Asta beamed. Cullen frowned.

“Asta, the baby…”

“I’ll be tied up for some time,” Asta allowed, “But I’m not going to just stay at home, either, Cullen. You know…” Cullen raised his eyebrows, a silent request to not rehash the same argument again. “Very well,” Asta grinned. “You know. I know, we all know…”

“No point fighting without an opponent,” Varric agreed easily enough, sitting in a low chair that belonged to Bernie, and propping his feet up next to Pippa’s work.  His daughter scowled at him when confronted with such a barrier in the way of her cruising path. “Sorry, Squirt,” he lifted his legs and she kept going with a singular focus. “She glares like her mom,” he explained, sheepishly when Cullen chuckled at his easy acquiescence.

“You give in too easily,” Cassandra‘s look mirrored her daughter‘s smaller one. “She will be spoiled.”

“She’s not the type,” Varric argued. “She’ll argue and glare and scowl and maybe hiss, but she’s never going to be spoiled. I do set boundaries, Cass!”

“Hmph,” Cassandra’s eyebrows arched skeptically.

And Asta laughed, “You two… you bicker like an old married couple!” She realized what she had said, and registered the Seeker’s aghast face. “I mean…”

“That is… that is… horrible to say…” Cassandra stammered. “You have been married far longer than…”

Varric snickered. “After a hit like that, we have no choice to disprove that assertion. Cass, we’re going back to the Keep, and I’m going to prove to you as soon as Nadiya’s down for her nap, that we are the furthest thing from an ‘old married couple’ as is possible. You pick the book, I’ll play the part.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed, “Varric,” she hissed. “You… you… shouldn‘t say such things. Not in front of…” Her eyes slanted in alarm towards Pippa.

“That sounds like fun,” Asta’s face lit up. “Cassandra, I want all the details!” Cullen’s groan could not be restrained.

"No,” the Seeker swept down, cheeks still a mottled red, and picked up her child. “Come, Varric. You…” she faced Asta again, but was unable to meet her eyes. “You are all invited for dinner. We want to enjoy your company, while we can.”

“We would be delighted,” Cullen answered before his wife could press for embarrassing details.

But Asta followed Cassandra out. “Details…” she whispered. “Please?”

Cassandra closed her eyes, and gave up her dignity. “He plays the Count in the first chapter, when I ask,” she admitted, very quietly, covering her daughter’s ears. “And I’m… I’m the Guard Captain.”

Asta squealed, “Really?”

And Cassandra smiled, a little smugly. “Really.”  She paused, "It is... amusing."

Pippa watched the whole exchange, “Are you two talking about playing pretend?” And Cassandra jumped back from Asta, horrified.

“I’ll tell you when you’re a little older,” Asta laughed, winking at Cass.

“All right,” Pippa tilted her head, and Cullen ushered her back inside before she could further embarrass their hosts. “Enjoy your sex, Seeker Pentaghast! Thank you for the invitation!” She frowned at her father's choked noises. “I’m only being polite, Da. What did I say?”

Cassandra had never uttered such a loud disgusted noise, nor Varric laughed so hard.

 


	35. The Road to Starkhaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter title is a reference to an old series of movies that I adore, despite how horrible they are.
> 
> I never claimed to have good taste. Just enthusiasm.

Pippa was restless, bouncing around the carriage that Asta and Cullen had hired, rather than have to have her in front of one of them on a horse for the whole trip. “Pippa, sit still,” Asta tried to admonish gently.

“Why do I have to be in here? Why can’t I ride with Hawke or Petri?” Pippa had dropped the Princess tactfully, when she realized how little the woman enjoyed her title. “I want to see where we’re going!”

“No,” Cullen ordered, arms folded, firmly. “You do not need to torment Hawke with your ceaseless questions, no more does your mother need to get motion sickness,” Asta raised an eyebrow at her semi-green husband, “with the way your movement perpetually rocks the carriage. Sit. Still.”

Pippa slumped against the seat. “I think I prefer travel by ship,” she huffed. “This is boring. At least by water I can go out on deck. Can I ride up front with the driver?”

“Why don’t you do your meditation exercises?” Asta suggested, in a tone of offering a treat.

“Boring,” and Pippa sounded more like Sera than she had any right to sound.

“But necessary,” Asta urged. “I did pack some books for you…” she trailed off when she saw the little girl’s pout. “I’m afraid your Da is right, Pippa. You will not be allowed to ride. You haven’t had a single riding lesson, and I refuse to be responsible for your behavior on a horse. They are living creatures, not merely transportation, and until you have been vetted by a professional, you will not be allowed to ride.”

“But this is boring.”

“That’s too bad, since only boring people are bored,” Asta countered, channeling one of Sister Dorcas‘ favorite expressions for bored apprentices. “I feel sorry for you.” She sighed, and prepared to be noble, “Cullen, I will sit with Pippa. You should go ride. I can tell you don’t feel well, cooped up in here. I‘ll signal the driver to stop, so you can…”

“Thanks, love,” Cullen muttered. “I hate to leave you…” he looked sideways at his daughter, “after all, it is… dull.” His mouth twisted up on one edge in humor. “But not boring. Obviously.”

“Da, can’t I go with you?” Pippa immediately started begging. “Please? I’ll do everything you tell me to…”

“I will, with your mother’s permission, give you a riding lesson tonight,” Cullen started, and Pippa immediately started bouncing the carriage again. “ _If_ , and only if,” he continued, “you do your meditation exercises, read one book that she has provided for you, and…” he ran out of tasks. “Asta, what else?”

“List the primary uses of elfroot, and the differences between the Royal and the common variety in her composition book,” Asta supplied. “Also, you should ask Petri if there’s anything that she should work on while we travel. He mentioned in particular that her mathematics were far behind where…”

“Not arithmetic,” Pippa complained. “Please, Mum, I hate…”

“Maths are extremely important,” Cullen’s brows drew in abruptly, humorously aghast at her reluctance. “How will you ever know how to calibrate a trebuchet if…” he tried a teasing tone, only to be interrupted.

“Not going to calibrate trebuchets,” Pippa pouted. “I’m going to do something that doesn‘t require any kind of arithmetic. Hawke doesn‘t need it. Neither will I.”

“You can’t do much without mathematics,” Asta observed, gently, trying to be reasonable, but chasing a near runaway temper. “Even I have to know measurements, equivalents, basic fractions and the like in order to make potions and poisons…”

“So I won’t be the Inquisitor,” Pippa sassed immediately. “Stupid job anyway.” Asta bit her lips to prevent a hasty reply, breathing a little heavily through her nose.

“Don’t talk back to your mother,” Cullen ordered, all Commander in his tone.

“She’s not my mother, she’s my Mum!” Pippa flashed insolently.

Asta took a deep breath. “Philippa Maxine Rutherford,” she said in an extremely quiet voice, and the girl calmed guiltily. “You will do your work - all of your work - without further complaints or you will not get a riding lesson this evening with your Da. Is that clear?” She leaned her arm out of the window and pounded three times on the side of the carriage, which immediately started to slow down. “And I think that we all need a break, don’t you?” She glared at Cullen.

“I didn’t do anything!” He protested. “It was Pippa who…”

“You raised your voice,” Asta pointed out, taking deep calming breaths. “You escalated the situation. So let’s stop, walk around, stretch our legs and…” The carriage had barely stopped before Pippa had bounded out of the door to go off and find Hawke to pester instead, as presumably she had wanted all along. “Mercy, Cullen,” Asta lifted her legs to rest on the seat in front of her, ankles slightly swollen. “You shouldn’t…”

“She was not obeying,” Cullen growled. “What was I supposed to do? I won‘t allow her to disrespect you or your position!”

Asta merely glanced at him and sighed. “Help me out of here. I do need to stretch my legs. For once, I agree with Josie that six hours is enough travel per day. At least with a nearly eight year old child and a rather pregnant body.” She watched said child nagging Hawke through the open door - hardly giving the rider a chance to dismount. “Better Hawke than me,” she observed drily. “I really wonder if we’re insane, trying to keep her with us. Cullen would it be better to send her back to Skyhold… is traveling this much good for her? Perhaps her complaints are a symptom of something deeper… we've been on the move nearly as long as we've...”

“It’s normal kid stuff,” Cullen helped her down gingerly. “Mia habitually shoved me out of the wagon while it was moving. Branson was always a terrible traveler - whined the whole way to Redcliffe, once. A full day’s travel with his voice in my ear the whole way.” He shuddered. “I begged Mam to let me walk home after that trip. I was ten.” He began to laugh, remembering. “Maker’s Breath, I hated road trips. Pure, unadulterated misery, crammed into the back of the wagon with two other siblings. And Mam was so determined to have a good time - she didn’t get out much and Redcliffe might as well have been Amaranth - enthusiastic about the journey, and pointing out the same old landmarks to several unappreciative children. Da‘s jaw ached for days afterward, he was gritting his teeth so hard against our bickering and his wife‘s forced cheerfulness.”

“Oh, Cullen,” Asta shook her head, trying not to laugh at his description. “Your poor mother. She must have been a saint to put up with all of you.  I'll never measure up.  But where was Ros?”

“Up front with Mam,” Cullen looked at her like it was obvious. “She was wee. Couldn’t be trusted to ride on her own in the back. She spent the trips crying cause she wanted to be back with ‘the big kids’ and I spent the trip begging to switch places with her in order to get away from Branson‘s whining and Mia‘s bullying.” He scowled, “Never happened. Mam said there wasn’t enough room for me. Branson got to, though, the next year when Ros was old enough to ride in back. Mam claimed he had a smaller butt.”

“Would a wagon be easier?” Asta stretched her lower back. “I’d be willing to purchase a wagon if it meant…”

“Not a chance, love,” Cullen laughed. “You wouldn‘t want to be pregnant, riding in a wagon. No padded seats, and your back aches enough, without not having a comfy backrest. But maybe… maybe we should think about an open carriage, next time. I won’t get sick, if I can see out.” He rubbed her lower back gently. “I’ll be able to keep you better company, then.”

“Weather, though,” Asta mused. “I’m not sure… but it’s a thought.” She watched Pippa pet Hawke’s horse gently, with awe in her eyes, chattering at it a mile a minute about her upcoming lessons. “That, or teach Pippa to ride quickly, and…”

“I think you’re past riding now,” Cullen cut her off, while eyeing her larger form appreciatively, placing a single gloved hand over the bulge of her armor.

“An old wives tale,” Asta dismissed with a scowl. “I’m sure I could manage…”

“Still, it wouldn’t be comfortable… and what if you fell?”  The worry creased between his eyes.  "And you'd be at greater risk on top of a horse... I can protect you better in the carriage..."

“This isn’t comfortable,” Asta bit off impatiently, but put her hand on his cheek to quiet his worries. “Misery is a very accurate description. Maybe I’ll ride up front with the driver, instead of Pippa, if her attitude keeps up.”

Cullen snorted, feeling better with the touch of her hand, “We’ve only been traveling for an hour and a half.”

“That’s an hour and a half too long.” Asta complained. She paused a moment, “I know you aren’t well, but don’t leave me alone the whole trip?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Cullen assured her with a smirk. “I’d like to stay married, thank you very much.” Asta shoved him. “You’d gut me, leaving you alone like that!”

Asta pulled him back in, “I’d regret it afterward.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, giggling.

“Good to know,” Cullen murmured, and kissed her gently, taking a moment when no one was watching to just be themselves for a little while. “Wouldn’t want you to have regrets.”

They reconvened shortly, and Petri climbed into the carriage compartment with a small bag at his hip, grinning at Pippa. “I have just the thing for bored children!” Pippa looked at him, slightly encouraged. “Mistress Pippa, did you realize I have four older brothers? Mother was very, very good at keeping us entertained. It‘s a shame that she decided not to come along.” He drew out a ball of yarn and burned through it swiftly, knotting it together to make a large loop. “Have you ever played Cat’s Cradle?”

Petri patiently led her through simple designs and into more complex patterns with the circle of string, and Pippa laughed when she failed to follow his instructions and the string collapsed into a massive tangle. Asta let her head slump against the side of the carriage as she watched them play, relieved that the whining was at an end - at least for now. “Pippa, this is a good basic exercise for reforming raw energy into what you want it to be, too.” He focused a moment on the tangled structure in Pippa’s hands, and slowly used force magic to pull it into a six pointed star. Asta watched her daughter’s eyes widen appreciatively. “That will be beyond you at this point, but it serves as an example of what we’re aiming for. For now…” he plucked the loop free of her fingers and dug in his bag, and placed two slim needles in Pippa’s empty hands.

The child looked less than impressed. “Knitting?”

“Knitting!” Petri beamed, taking another smaller set of needles out of the bag and two large rolls of yarn. “The simple repetition is excellent for teaching focus. Counting stitches, the difference between knitting and purling is an excellent metaphor for healing magic vs. offensive magic, unraveling missed stitches is a good way to build an eye for detail, incorporating different colors or raised patterns can help you remember the runes necessary for setting glyphs…” he realized he was losing his audience to disdain and took a needle back. “Let’s start with a single knit stitch. I’m going to have you make a simple square, to start, and then we’ll work on something more useful. This time, I will cast on for you, but next time, I’ll want you to do it yourself, so pay attention.”

“I think I’d rather play Cat’s Cradle,” Pippa muttered grumpily, watching his fingers loop the yarn slowly onto the thick needle, counting the knots deliberately. “Knitting is for Chantry Sisters.” Asta choked back a laugh. She had never learned to knit.

“Knitting is for everyone," Petri corrected.  "Magic isn’t all fun and games and explosions,” Petri lectured easily, completely without offense. “It’s focus. You need to be able to apply that level of concentration to everything in your life, in order to make the most of your abilities. This is an excellent way to begin.” He finished casting the yarn onto the needle, and handed it back to the child. “Now, let me show you how to keep the tension on the yarn steady. Otherwise you’ll have huge loops and tiny loops, and your square will turn into a triangle.” He made a face, and Pippa laughed, despite herself. “It will help you learn to feed just the right amount of power into your spells, instead of risking backlash or underwhelming results.”

“I guess it’s better than arithmetic,” Pippa allowed.

Petri winked at Asta, who smiled in appreciation. “We’ll get into that, later. You can‘t do magic without mathematics, Pippa. You need to learn about division, ratios, probability, and statistics.”

"What's probability?" Pippa asked, but she was already taking the knitting needle back from her teacher.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Petri smiled smugly and took out his own pair of needles.  "Now, do what I do."

***

Starkhaven’s palace was formal and strangely… familiar, as Cullen looked around. “All this white marble…” He stared at the massive columns, capped with gold in the throne room as they waited, trying not to fidget with fatigue and impatience.

“Reminds me of someplace,” Asta murmured back, confused. “Can’t place it though. You?”

Cullen shook his head. “Nope. It‘ll bother me until I figure it out. It certainly… gleams, doesn‘t it?”

Pippa had been dressed up, and she was beaming, anticipating being formally presented to the Prince of Starkhaven. “Mum, can I go with you to meet the College of Enchanters? Is Rhys here already? Da, do I look pretty?”

“You look lovely,” Cullen assured her readily, rather preoccupied with where he had seen that much white marble before.  He was sure it had been recently...

“Yes, I’d like you to come with me, and yes, he’s supposed to be staying in town,” Asta answered in turn. “I’m hoping to see him within the next few days, whenever we‘re free and he‘s available. Josie, can you make the arrangements?” Josie had traveled ahead to stay with some friends of the family in the city, and she smiled happily, already looking more relaxed after the change in scenery.

“I already have, Inquisitor,” she made a small note. “I’ll request of the Prince’s housekeeper whether or not they have room for Enchanter Rhys and Ser Evangeline.” She beamed at Pippa. “And you look amazing, Pippa. I approve completely.” She tapped her quill against her cheek. “I do believe that shade of blue is your color.  It brings out your eyes.  Spin for me?” Pippa obediently twirled - the skirt didn’t flare out, it being a simple pinafore with silver clasps at the shoulder, with a crisp ivory blouse underneath - well made but not ostentatious, or inappropriate for a child, and ever so subtly Fereldan in appearance. “Perfect. Well done, Inquisitor.”

"Thank Cullen," Asta corrected.  "He did the shopping for Pippa at Lirene's in Kirkwall.  He has a good eye for color."  Cullen blushed and looked up at the high ceiling, appreciating the murals he found there.

“Thank you, Ambassador Montilyet,” Pippa curtseyed, the gesture already vastly improved. “And may I say, that I think jewel tones will be in this season? They compliment your hair so perfectly, I‘m sure you‘ll be delighted.” A shadow fell across her face, and she pressed her lips together, saddened. “You ought to tell him that you aren’t interested. Your family will understand. They want you to be happy, and they know that you‘re worth more than...”

Josie‘s breath caught in her throat, and she cleared it deliberately. “Now is not the time. But… I wouldn’t necessarily be unhappy, Pippa. He’s not a bad person. Perhaps you‘re too young to understand… a contract is…”

“But…” Pippa interrupted and frowned. “You’ll scare him, and then you wouldn’t be able to respect him.”

Josie let a mask drop over her face abruptly, but not before a flash of worry lit up her eyes. “We’ll talk about it later, Pippa. Now isn’t the time…” she paused, and changed the subject, “Inquisitor, may I have your permission to train Pippa in court etiquette?”

“Somebody has to,” Asta murmured back, a little worried herself at Pippa's latest revelation. “Better be you. Maybe we can set her on the Starkhaven court. A secret weapon in dancing slippers and pinafores,” she teased.

Cullen groaned at the thought. “She doesn’t need the Game, Asta.”

Asta’s eyes narrowed severely, “On the contrary. She’s a mage who is likely to grow up in society, and outside of a Tower. If you truly object, we’ll talk about it later, Cullen.” Cullen pressed his lips together firmly, determined to do just that. “But Pippa, once you’ve been introduced, please, keep quiet for now, unless… unless it’s an emergency. If someone is going to get hurt, for example.”

“’Course!” Pippa started bouncing on the tips of her toes again, and then stopped abruptly. “Oh,” she whispered. “He’s here.”

The Prince of Starkhaven entered, looking tired and worn out, but immediately smiled when he saw his wife, who stepped up to the dais to greet him. “Hawke,” he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. “You’re back. You were missed.” His shoulders slumped with relief and he slid his arm around her waist.

“Same here,” Hawke admitted, almost under her breath. Slightly louder, she continued, “Still, love, here they are, just as promised - the Inquisitor and her little family delivered, safe and sound.” She reached her arm behind his back in turn and he jumped forward a little bit with a small sideways critical glare at his wife, who didn’t react.

“I greet you, Inquisitor, Ser Rutherford and…” he frowned slightly, but in surprise, not disapproval, “I was expecting your sister to be considerably older,” he grinned rakishly, the creases of worry and fatigue erasing with the smile. “May I beg an introduction to this lovely lady?” He bowed slightly in the child‘s direction.

Pippa giggled and Hawke snorted. “’Bastian, this is Philippa. Technically, she’s the Inquisitor’s niece, but they’ve adopted her…” her words trailed off, “I’ll tell you the story later.”

“Charmed,” Sebastian came down the steps and kissed the little girl’s hand.

With the touch of his hand Pippa’s eyes went blurry. “You were angry and bitter, locked up in your city, after Mum and Da sent you home,” the words fell over her lips like a landslide, uncontrolled and impossible to stop. “Dull and uninterested, a block of wood on an unlit pyre, cold and icy. She set you aflame, burned your old life to ashes, melted your indifference. You passed through the flame to live again.” Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she came back into herself. “That’s very romantic. Mum, did you know…”

Sebastian pulled back slightly, but managed to keep his composure and Pippa's hand. “I’m sorry…”

“Mistress Pippa is… something else,” Hawke finished, with a little glee, her cheeks slightly pink with the hinted compliment in the child‘s words. “Don’t think too loud around her, ‘Bastian. She‘ll know all our secrets,” the mage purred.

“I see,” Sebastian braced his shoulders. “In any case, Inquisitor, I greet you and your… family,” his pause was very brief. “My housekeeper has prepared quarters.” He looked at Pippa, still holding her hand. “Would you prefer to keep Pippa near you, or… we could have the nursery cleared out…” Hawke’s face shifted with some hidden emotion and then again with surprise at her own reaction. “It’s been… some time since we had a child - even one visiting - in the palace, I’m afraid. I‘m not sure of the protocol.”

“For now, we’ll keep her with us,” Asta hesitated. “Forgive me, your highness, but with Pippa’s… talents, we worry that she will be…” she trailed off, with the Ambassador’s slight cough. “I don’t mean to insult your security, Prince Vael,” she corrected herself.

“Not at all,” Sebastian sighed. “I understand. One cannot… one cannot be too careful with… family.” He continued to stare at Pippa, just on the edge of rudeness, his brows creased with remembered pain. “Rest assured that Starkhaven will spare no quarter in keeping your daughter safe in her time here.”

“Thank you,” Cullen spoke for the first time since the Prince entered, gratitude filling the two words to overflowing.

“So we’ll see you at dinner,” Hawke piped up, and tugged on her husband’s arm. “’Bastian and I need some… time,” she suggested slyly, and Sebastian smiled, his fatigue still hanging in every line of his face, but already looking better.

“I should see to our guests…” he murmured reluctantly. “A formal retinue warrants personal attention, Hawke…” his rolled r's carried into the group.

“No, that’s what your people are for,” Hawke grumbled. “You’re mine, for at least a little while.” She paused, “Please?” A single upswept look through her lashes and Asta coughed, recognizing the ploy. “Let them get settled on their own, ‘Bastian. You‘ll just be in their way. And I want you in my way instead.”

“Very well,” Sebastian grinned wistfully, and turned back to his guests. “Forgive me… I… It‘s been some time… I do not mean to be rude…” his fumbling excusal of himself endeared him to Asta slightly.

“I understand completely,” Asta assured him in turn, with what she hoped was an understanding grin. “Please, don’t trouble yourself over us.  We will be meeting often in the days to come.  We can discuss everything then.  And I must thank you formally for the protection of the Champion in the last weeks.”

“Thank you,” the Prince managed stiffly, and followed his wife’s tugging arm out of the exit behind the thrones. “I… I will see you at dinner.  Consider my home yours, in the meantime.”  Josie sighed with satisfaction.

***

“I think that went well!” Asta beamed as she put her feet up on the small settee in their rooms, and Cullen chuckled.

“Other than Pippa’s... slip… it went better than I could have hoped,” Josie sighed once more. “But he did not take offense, and that is the most important thing. Master Cerastes, is there no way to teach Pippa how _not_ to pick up such… tidbits?”

“I have no idea,” Petri admitted with some reluctance and an accompanying frown. “I’m not familiar with her talents enough yet.  I suspect most of them are yet developing, given her age and lack of training.”

“Rhys may have some ideas,” Cullen hoped aloud. “Pippa, it’s not that we mind, exactly, but when we’re trying to make a good impression…”

“I know - it just sort of happened,” Pippa looked abashed, her eyes cast down to observe her embroidered slippers. “I didn’t mean to, but it was all right there, shouting at me. And it was a nice thought. You don‘t think I embarrassed Prince Vael, do you?"

“More exercises on control, I suppose wouldn’t come amiss,” Petri suggested. “How’s the knitting, Pippa?”

“It’s all triangles,” Pippa grumbled, her face falling. “And knots. And random holes. It doesn’t look like anything _real_.”

“It will come,” Petri promised. “With practice. Anything worth doing is hard at first.”

“You sound like Da,” she complained, not without bitterness.  Cullen coughed.  "Well, he does."

Petri's mouth tilted up, vaguely flattered, “There are worse people to be compared to. But we have some time before dinner,” he continued, “let’s try it again, from the beginning. Go get your bag?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Iduna again, for helping me brainstorm possible beginning magic lessons for a mage who can't summon elementals yet! The knitting was all her idea.


	36. Blade of the Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from the Chant of Light, Exaltations 1:
> 
> I covered my face, fearful,  
> But the Lady took my hands from my eyes,  
> Saying, 'Remember the fire.  
> You must pass through it alone to  
> Be forged anew.  
> Look! Look upon the Light so you  
> May lead others here through the darkness,  
> Blade of the Faith!'

Josie’s bustling started in the early morning, with a small breakfast delivered to the Inquisitor’s room, and a neatly written agenda outlining nearly every second of the next few days. Asta read it, sipping her tea slowly, willing her mind to wake up and comprehend the words, punctuated by irritable little kicks from within, as the baby protested his increasingly cramped quarters - and possibly the infusion of caffeine into his small system.

“And when are we meeting Rhys and Ser Evangeline?”

“This afternoon,” Josie leaned in and flipped the page over. “There. After a late luncheon with the Chancellor of Resources. The Inquisition is still in need of high quality stone for the stairway in your tower, and to repair the wall between my office and the War Room. This is our best opportunity to…”

“Josie, is my presence necessary…” Cullen started, interrupting what would no doubt be an enlightening lecture about the Starkhaven stone industry.

Josie frowned critically. “You have a completely separate calendar, Cullen. You are meeting with the commander of the Starkhaven military and the Prince…” she fished in her high stack of papers and handed him a single sheet of parchment. “To discuss possible ways to integrate their capabilities into the Inquisition’s forces, and vice versa.” She beamed proudly. “I don’t think either of you can complain - I’ve divided your appointments into your relative strengths… except…” she hesitated.

“The Grand Cleric,” Asta murmured, looking at the third page of her second day’s agenda in disgust and alarm. “Josie, this… this will not go well. Don’t you remember? The Exalted Council was a…”

“Of course I remember,” Josie criticized. “You will notice that I am slated to be at that appointment with you. It takes only a little self restraint, Inquisitor… we cannot snub the Chantry entirely on such a visit.”

“What about me?” Pippa piped up, a little quietly. “Am I going to be alone all day?”

Asta shook her head, even while waging a silent war of glares with the Ambassador. “You will either be with me, your Da or Petri, no matter what. We will not be leaving you alone.” The child relaxed. “But you’re going to have to pick one of us. It doesn’t look like we’ll have the time to shuttle you back and forth if you’re bored, love.” Asta lost the battle, if not the war, with Josie and dropped her eyes, sighing, flipping back and forth through the itinerary.

“Actually, I had some thoughts on that,” Josie beamed in self-congratulation. “Master Cerastes is the key. He will need to be with you, Inquisitor, while you meet with the College - a Tevinter viewpoint would be invaluable, don‘t you think? - and then we have Pippa’s school hours to arrange,” she handed the child a third agenda, much to Pippa‘s obvious delight, though considerably shorter, and with larger writing. “I would like Mistress Philippa to be present for several key social engagements, but as Master Cerastes is taking on the bulk of her training now that we are back in Starkhaven, at least until you meet with Enchanter Rhys…”

Pippa grinned at the simple schedule, bouncing slightly in enjoyment at being included. “Riding lessons at the stables. The College. Formal dinner with Starkhaven dignitaries.” Asta peeked over her shoulder curiously and bit her lips.

“Josie, you have her along with us for meeting with the Grand Cleric?” She raised critical eyes up back up to the charming Ambassador.

“I’m trusting that her presence will keep your language and behavior appropriate for the company,” Josie’s teeth showed in a thin white line, a smug smile of victory. “Naturally, if you object, I can make other arrangements…” her quill hovered over her desk. “But as one of the greatest risks of your presence in Starkhaven comes from the Chantry…”

“That’s exactly why Pippa should not be present,” Cullen argued, setting his page down, after finding nothing he objected to, except in theory. “Bringing a known mage into a Chantry - especially a child - would be the worst idiocy…”

“Scout Harding has determined that Starkhaven has no Templars still serving the Chantry,” Josie countered. “Their only defense is Starkhaven’s military. Their Circle was never rebuilt after the fire, Cullen, and therefore their presence has been less than a city of their size warranted for nearly a decade. No doubt that was one reason so many mages congregated here, of any city in the Marches. You‘re overreacting - slightly…” Josie’s words trailed off as Asta noticed Cullen’s muscles tensing under her criticism of his worries.

“If you insist on Asta and Pippa’s attendance on the Cleric, then I come with them,” Cullen set his hands on the table, prepared to shove himself into a standing position. “I won’t let you use our daughter’s… skills at any negotiation table, either. She is a child, first and foremost, whatever her… talents.”

“I don’t mind helping, Da,” Pippa tried, not wanting to be left behind.

“I know,” Cullen softened abruptly, and Josie shifted her eyes to Asta, surprised. “But… I have to keep you safe. Until you don’t need me anymore. It wasn‘t so long ago that the last place you‘d be safe would be in a Chantry, little one.” Asta raised a single eyebrow at the endearment, but didn’t comment. “I can’t guarantee that the Cleric has forgotten that so easily. We all go together, or not at all.”

Josie frowned, and made a brief scribble on her parchment in shorthand, indicating the proposed change. “It means I will have to put off a couple of crucial meetings with…” she sighed in resignation, seeing how she could make it work. “Very well. I will make your apologies to the appropriate parties, and try to twist your intractability into something resembling politeness or devotion.” She weighed the former Commander amiably. “Perhaps I’ll tell the Grand Cleric you are a great admirer of hers, and insisted on meeting her. A little flattery goes a long way.”

“Say whatever you like,” Cullen relaxed. “As long as I am present.”

***

Rhys and Evangeline entered their rooms cautiously that afternoon, to an atmosphere of anticipation. “Inquisitor,” Evangeline saluted, fist across her chest, adding a slight bow of respect, her wariness not quite hidden. “You asked to see us?”

Rhys snorted, far more at ease than the knight that was his lover and companion. “Requested us to cross an entire continent because she needed to speak to us in person, you mean. Superlatives are necessary, Evangeline. It‘s not like we were in the next room, sipping tea.” He faced Asta, sizing her up, and bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. You’re… not quite what I had expected.”

“I rarely am,” Asta grinned affably. “Varric’s interpretation of the events surrounding Corypheus has colored perceptions quite well. I don’t mind. And believe me, I’m just as pleased to meet both of you. May I introduce my daughter, Pippa?”

“Fast work,” Rhys said, under his breath, and Evangeline nudged him gently in criticism. “My pardon, Mistress Pippa. Delighted, I’m sure.”

Pippa had frozen with Rhys‘ appearance, gripping the arms of her chair nervously, and shifting her eyes to Cullen and Asta. “Mum…” she managed, obviously trying to control her reactions.

“Go ahead, Pippa,” Asta urged. “You know better what to do. I think… I think you should just…” she exchanged a look with Cullen, and continued with the confirmation of his small nod, “talk.”

“ _Faith_ ,” Pippa’s face relaxed all at once. “You have _her_ Faith.” She was only speaking to Evangeline. “Did you know?”

“I… I had an idea,” Evangeline was disturbed, shifting her own eyes to Cullen extremely cautiously. “But I… I don‘t feel any different. I never have.”

“She died to save a Templar he loved,” Asta breathed the words out softly. “Cole makes so much more sense in hindsight.” Cullen snorted in amusement, and Evangeline blushed red. Rhys merely cleared his throat, watching Pippa with no little amount of confusion and consternation.

“She gave up her Faith to save her,” Pippa suddenly had tears in her eyes. “She wanted to love him, so badly. But in the end she could only die for him. He had never been her baby, but she would always be his mother.” She turned back to Asta. “I have more in common with Enchanter Rhys than my friends thought, Mum.” Asta wrapped her arm around her back. “It was a blessing, not a curse,” she lifted her head and focused on Evangeline. “You feel no different, because what she gave you… you always had. The spirit just made you _more_ , so that you could keep going, and love him at his side. She could never be with him but you could.” She frowned, “You shouldn’t feel guilty. You‘re still you.”

“I see,” Rhys sighed. “You speak of my mother, of course.” He held out his hand, and Pippa pulled away from Asta to take it with a small smile. “Are… are you like Cole? No,” he corrected immediately. “Everyone can see you. You…”

“No,” Pippa said firmly. “I’m not a spirit. I‘m a little girl.”

“Cole said something similar,” Rhys prompted.

“Cole was confused,” Asta remembered. “He didn’t remember what happened, Enchanter Rhys, and when he did, he went looking for Templars to keep him safe, but they couldn‘t see him.” She sighed, “Please, have a seat? Both of you, please, and… have some tea, or something. I assure you, my daughter was conceived - and born - in the normal way. We have her mother’s diary to confirm it, and witnesses at the Chantry that have been raising her for the last few years. She is not like Cole. She’s… something different.”

Cullen finally spoke, “And we need your help. Please, Enchanter, Knight-Captain.” There was a begging tone in his voice that Asta had rarely heard there, underlying the level of his worry.

“That is not my title,” Evangeline corrected him gently, and Cullen acknowledged her denial, nodding with a tilted head. “I haven’t been a Knight-Captain for some time, Ser Rutherford. Not since… we were at Adamant. With Wynne.” She pressed her lips together and folded her arms, even as she sat next to Rhys, tense in his own way, laying his staff on the floor behind his feet. “I have left the Order behind forever.”

Asta took her sister’s diary from where it was resting in her lap and handed it to Rhys. “With Pippa’s permission, I’m showing you this. I believe her mother was… possessed, for lack of a better word, when she was born. I don’t know what that means for Pippa, but if your mother had a similar… companion, and you are a medium… then I believe Pippa is something… similar?” Asta let go of the book and quirked a weak smile. “I’m not a mage. I have little knowledge of such things, though I have spent some time trying to improve my understanding, but Pippa has a small collection of other books and tomes that her mother thought important enough to send with her, before… before the Circle she was born in was annulled.” She was having a difficult time saying ‘Diarsmuid’, but the diary would make that clear.

“I’ll need to see those books,” Rhys’ forehead was wrinkled. “I had never connected… my own abilities with…” he slumped, and Evangeline grasped his shoulder, looking worried. “I’m all right,” he smiled at the former Templar briefly. “It makes sense, I suppose. A possessed mother would mean a further connection with the Fade, and would no doubt make the child more… susceptible to spiritual influences.”

Pippa stared at him, confused in turn. “Don’t you have friends like me, Enchanter?”

“Friends?” Rhys raised his eyebrows. “I can converse with spirits more easily than most mages, yes, but… can you be friends with spirits? You must always be on your guard in the Fade. Demons lie, and set traps, young lady.”

“Not when they aren’t bad ones. You have to want to see the bad ones,” Pippa frowned, upset. “You aren’t just like me. I’m still different. Mum,” she turned back to Asta, eyes filled with tears. “He’s not the same. Why?”

“You’re still you,” Asta murmured gently, using her own words on purpose. “Different isn’t bad, Pippa.”

Pippa sucked in a deep, nearly sobbing breath, obviously disappointed, and nodded.

Rhys hesitated, and then turned to Cullen. “I… with your permission, Inquisitor, Ser Rutherford, I would like to try something. Perhaps… perhaps if I talk to Pippa’s ‘friends’ I will be able to determine exactly…”

“Oh!” Pippa’s eyes lit up through the lingering tears. “They think that will work. You‘ve made them start talking really fast. I can‘t keep up.”

A startled Rhys turned to Evangeline, “I… I will have to enter the Fade. Pippa can converse easily across the Veil, it seems, but I cannot. Not for this.” Evangeline nodded. “That means…”

“Lyrium,” Cullen looked resigned, and nauseous, and Asta reached a hand out to touch him. “I will stand guard with Ser Evangeline.” Asta opened her mouth to protest. “I will do this, Asta. I have to protect her…”

“Pippa will not be in the Fade, just sleeping. Only I will… cross that way,” Rhys contradicted their assumptions. “I… do not believe she is possessed. Merely influenced by… so far, friendly spirits. I am well versed in the lies of demons, Ser Rutherford. I am a medium.” He took a deep breath. “I know that it is hard for Templars to…”

“I am not a Templar, either,” Cullen breathed heavily in impatience and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can trust you,” he bit off. “I remember your mother. She was a wonderful woman, even if…”

“Even if she was an abomination?” Evangeline raised her eyebrows. “Like me?”

“I am hereby forbidding the use of that word in my and my daughter’s presence,” Asta barked, imperial as she seldom was, even when pronouncing judgment on offenders. “If you must, use the word ’spirit companion’, please.”

“Semantics,” Evangeline grumbled, casting her eyes sideways at her lover. “Should have believed all those stories about the Inquisitor after all.”

“I’ll collect your coin later,” Rhys laughed at his lady. “Told you she wouldn’t be phased. She’s been with Cole for years, my dear. Did you think she was going to let you call yourself an abomination? There was no need for us to avoid Skyhold at all. Any one that would welcome Cole as he was wouldn‘t flinch at you. You‘re far more… normal. You don‘t speak in riddles, for one.”

“Flatterer,” Evangeline grated, her lips twitching in amusement. “You win. As always.”

“Not always,” Rhys grinned, eyebrows raised flirtatiously, as he scratched under his neatly trimmed beard. Asta bit her lips, trying not to laugh. Evangeline raised a single arched eyebrow, and looked away, out a window to deflect curiosity, even while she flushed. “Now then, Inquisitor… does your Ambassador perhaps have a source for lyrium?”

“Don’t you?” Asta asked slowly, eying Evangeline. “Surely Ser Evangeline…”

“I… I have not taken lyrium since…” the knight stammered, eyes still on the trees outside the window. “I… have not needed it.”

“Oh,” Asta’s eyes went round. “But your abilities, Ser Evangeline…”

“My abilities remain… unchanged and in some cases… are enhanced,” Evangeline said slowly and clearly.

“I call her the Super-Templar,” Rhys joked. “She is the reason we survived so long, surrounded by demons after the rifts opened,” he winked at Evangeline again, who merely shifted her gaze to the ceiling with folded arms, her dark eyebrows folded together with inner thought and debate, evidently uncomfortable with the discussion. “We’ve been considering whether or not to request a reassignment to Kirkwall, since we heard the Seeker order was relocating. But we have been concerned…”

“I might be of better use to the Seekers, than in Val Foret,” Evangeline interrupted in a grumpy mutter. “I understand that their process is not so different… from what I have become.”  She glowered a bit.  "Trust does not come easy to either of us.  I'm sure you understand."

“The process is a little different,” Asta exchanged a look with Cullen. “But I believe Josie has maintained our contacts with lyrium providers, just in case.” She looked concerned. “Tell me, both of you, you do understand… what lyrium is? Because I am unwilling to promote its use by those who are ignorant of its true nature.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow again, and smirked. “I do not have to imbibe it, Inquisitor. Not for this. What I have in mind is more like a Harrowing… I will come into contact with the lyrium physically, but it will be absorbed through my skin, not swallowed.”

Asta nodded slowly. “Very well. For my daughter’s sake, I will allow its use,” she looked at Cullen for confirmation. “Cullen? Do you agree?”

“I believe it to be necessary,” Cullen grunted reluctantly. “For Pippa’s sake.”

“Pippa?” Asta asked gently. “Is this all right with you? They are your friends.” Pippa merely nodded. Asta folded her hands over her stomach unconsciously. “Very well, I’ll have our Ambassador make the arrangements. As soon as possible.” She smiled slightly. “I have no doubt this will disrupt her careful agenda, but… this is definitely more important than meeting with any Grand Cleric.”

 


	37. Benedictions

Despite all her hopes to the contrary, Asta still found herself dressed like a older matron, and led by Josephine towards the Starkhaven Cathedral, accompanied by her husband and daughter, and unexpectedly, the Champion and the Prince. She shifted the corded belt that was crisscrossed under her breasts and around her larger stomach, and twisted the tasseled end in an unconscious fidget. “I look like my Grandmother Trevelyan.”

“You look nice, Mum. You don‘t look old at all,” Pippa slipped her hand into hers. “It will be all right. Hawke thinks she has a sense of humor.” Cullen wisely chose not to comment on either his wife's appearance or the Cleric's unlikely funny bone.

“I don’t see how,” Asta began irritably. “And she doesn’t like me. She established herself as an enemy two years ago.”

“Nonsense,” Josephine began, “You of all people, Inquisitor, should realize that allies are fleeting and enemies are hardly locked in stone. You would do well to stop seeing the Chantry as opposition and begin courting…” she sighed at Asta‘s harsh look, and broke off her miniature lecture. “I’m asking the impossible.”

“Quite,” Asta bit off. “But I am here, aren‘t I?  What more can you ask, Josie? I wore this… damned demure dress, and I will behave myself - if she does.” Hawke snickered at the inherent qualification. “But I notice that the Champion didn’t have to dress up like an old woman to meet with her Grand Cleric…” She continued bickering with Josie over the gown she had been forced to wear irritably, right up to the Cathedral doors. “The collar is too tight, and I’m fucking sweltering in this overdress, Josie. You owe me for this.”

“I like her,” Hawke confided in Sebastian quietly, the Ambassador's reply lost in the background. “More and more, with every day I spend in her company. And if you ever try to force me into a dress like that, much less the headpiece and veil, I will fry you in our bed. Chantry appropriate or not.”

‘I can tell,” he murmured, amused. “I would expect no less.” He cleared his throat and projected slightly louder, over the continuing argument, “Inquisitor, if it isn’t too much to ask as your host and ally, I would like to request that you not cause an incident with Mother Paloma. She is… conservative, but not a bad sort. She did agree to marry…”

“Reluctantly, and only with an extreme amount of jumping through hoops,” Hawke clarified. “Everything had to be in writing, straight from the hand of the Divine…”

“And then she barely blinked when we took our… liberties with the marriage ceremony,” Sebastian chided. “Even when we told her we were going to quench Andraste’s pyre, only to relight it again.” Asta noted him squeezing his wife’s arm gently. “And I know she laughed when you… accosted me afterward. I heard her.” Hawke grunted in apparent, if reluctant, agreement. “Please, reserve judgment, Inquisitor? You meet here on equal terms, after all.”

The Grand Cleric didn’t keep them waiting, and rose to greet them. “Inquisitor, Prince Vael, Champion, Ser Rutherford, Ambassador,” her eyes rested, cautiously on the child, “And you must be Mistress Philippa. I‘ve heard interesting things about you.”

The child looked at the door just behind the Grand Cleric, eyes sad. “You should tell her to come out,” she said softly. “Mum doesn’t like being watched.” Mother Paloma pressed her lips together, and the door swung open deliberately.

“Such a talent,” Vivienne swept into the room. “Inquisitor, all. I do hope you don’t mind me attending your little… interlude?”

“You’re cold, so cold,” Pippa words stumbled like an accident over her lips, her hand tightening on Asta‘s. “Fear bubbling up like chilled champagne, losing your grip, the glass slipping from between your fingers, shattering into a million irrelevant pieces. Disappearing into the tile, as if you never existed.” She stopped abruptly, but the words pushed themselves out inexorably. “The weight of your disapproval as heavy as the metal you’re named after. Better to be feared than ignored. Or forgotten.”

“You do collect them, don‘t you, Inquisitor?” Vivienne seemed unfazed by Pippa’s revelations. “I had heard rumors about your latest… abomination.”

“Sorry, Mum,” Pippa whispered, wincing. Cullen shifted subtly, so that he could reach his sword, angling himself in front of his wife and child.

“That word is never to be used in my presence, or in the presence of my daughter,” barked Asta angrily. “If you call Pippa that again, you will be detained by Inquisition agents, Vivienne.”

“Fascinating,” Hawke murmured with a flash of her eyes, and drawing on the Fade hard enough for Cullen to notice, though no spell was readily apparent. “Inquisitor, I don’t believe I have been introduced…”

Vivienne sneered, “Of course, the companion of the abomination that started everything would sympathize… you do realize how miserable your… friend‘s timing was, didn‘t you?” She swiveled her gaze back to the child. “But even you did what needed to be done in the end.” Hawke hands flared with fire, even while Sebastian rested a hand on her arm.

“Prince Vael,” Asta raised her voice, “I believe I am going to have to remove the Right Hand of the Divine from your Cathedral, due to her incompliance with my request. Would you prefer to place the order, or shall I?”

Sebastian sighed, torn. “I understand. I apologize for any inconvenience this might cause, Mother Paloma…”

The Grand Cleric merely settled back into her chair with a nod and a wince of her own.

Pippa whispered, “She is the Game, player and played, in a Circle. There‘s no way for her to win without the gameboard.”

“That’s no excuse,” Asta argued. “She should know better, after all these years. The Circles are dead. There is only the College, now.” The mage humphed haughtily.

“The Circles are missed by more enchanters than you realize, my dear. Do you really think the Divine will just allow this removal… over a stray word?”

“None of your words are ever strays, Vivienne. You've trained them all too well to suit your purposes.  As for whether the Divine will protest - I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?” Asta challenged. “I was under the impression that the Chantry was going to be less of a political entity than a charity. Your talents must be largely going to waste.”

“I was sent here to observe,” Vivienne raised her eyebrows. “Her Holiness believed that I would be impartial in my assessment of the College and what they have achieved here.” She looked over her nails coolly, “But I suspect that you are not interested in my opinions?”

“Not if you intend to use offensive language, Madame,” Asta gritted her teeth. “Whatever Leliana’s game…”

“Divine Victoria,” corrected Vivienne. “Truly, Inquisitor, you should be more careful with your semantics as well. One might be forced to conclude that you aren’t Andrastian at all.”

“No more am I,” Asta clenched her fingers tight around her daughter’s hand.  "I have long since given up that ruse."

Prince Vael raised his voice. “The Inquisitor was guaranteed protection while in my city. The Chantry has no right…”

“This is not your Cathedral, or the Chantry’s,” Mother Paloma interrupted the argument at last. “It is the Maker’s, and his Bride’s. It is a place of sanctuary and reverence. While you are both out of order, I‘m afraid I have to take the Inquisitor‘s side in this matter.” She stood, and folded her hands into her voluminous sleeves, partially hiding the sunburst on the front of her elaborate robes. “Madame Vivienne, I must request that you take your leave. I have a prior - private - appointment with the Inquisitor and the Prince.”

“Of course, Mother Paloma,” Vivienne curtseyed beautifully. “Ambassador, I will be in touch with you shortly regarding an audience with Her Worship,” she used Asta’s former title as if it were a curse word.

“Do not address me in that manner,” Asta countered immediately. “I request again that you watch your language, Vivienne.” She turned until she was certain that Vivienne had left the room, the door shut, waited for several moments, and then opened the door again to make sure the mage had departed, just as she exited the main doors of the building, and then closed it, just sort of a slam. “I will not apologize, Cullen, Josie. Not for this.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Cullen growled. Asta turned and realized how angry he really was, his face furrowed in a way she had only seen a few times before. “We have no reason to believe…”

“Exactly,” Asta interrupted.

“I believe I should apologize,” the Grand Cleric spoke quietly, taking her seat once more. “I was assured she was here only to observe our meeting, and in our city to determine the practicality of the College‘s work. I didn’t realize her intentions were…” her voice faltered and her eyes dropped away from Asta’s furious eyes entirely. “I didn’t agree with Prince Vael when he allowed the mages to remain. I believed him to be…” she raised her eyes, shadowed to meet the ruler‘s, “unduly influenced by his time in Kirkwall, with the Champion and her… other companions.”

“You were right,” Hawke muttered smugly and with great satisfaction, as Sebastian sighed and looked upwards to the elaborate carvings, as if calling on Andraste herself to preserve propriety. “I do have undue influence.  I rather enjoy it, quite honestly...”

“But I have no reason to wish the Circles to be rebuilt. Our record with abom…” the Grand Cleric stopped on the forbidden word, and then continued again, slower, weighing each word as if it could tip the scales if she spoke too quickly, “with magical… incidents has been remarkably low. Possibly less than we’ve ever had. A scarce handful, since the Towers started falling, and most of those the product not of blood magic, but due to lack of training, according to those mages that are willing to talk to my Sisters. Madame Vivienne assured me that was her purpose in Starkhaven - to determine the instruction that our young mages were receiving was adequate and not crossing lines…” she trailed off. “I cannot justify my behavior today. If you would like to leave, Inquisitor, Prince Vael, I will understand. I have breached your trust, with my actions. You would be within your rights to write to the Most Holy and demand my resignation.” The Grand Cleric lifted her chin, and Sebastian sighed again, and closed his eyes.

Asta suppressed her inclination to do just that, but Josie coughed - managing to inject a certain tone of pleading into the subtle reminder.  Her shoulders fell in defeat.  “Josie, your coughs are works of art. Let’s just get it over with,” Asta grumbled as Pippa squeezed her fingers. “I have another appointment in an hour.”

The Grand Cleric tilted her chin sideways and nodded, puzzlement crossing her face. “I… am surprised by your forbearance, Inquisitor, but grateful, all the same.”

“Tell me that when we’ve finished here,” Asta muttered and took a seat without being asked.

***

Asta marched out of the Cleric’s office close to an hour later, still furious, but not at anything the Grand Cleric had said, surprisingly enough. That meeting had gone remarkably well, Cullen had to admit, if more because Asta had redirected her ire to a different target than the Grand Cleric, than any peacemaking between his wife and the other woman. “Ambassador, I want to know exactly how we were not aware that the fucking Right Hand of the Divine was in Starkhaven,” Asta ordered, automatically pausing before the main shrine, knowing that the people with her would want to take a moment.

“Thank you for keeping your temper, Asta,” Josie murmured gently. “I will gather our lead scouts this afternoon for a full debriefing.”

“Had it been my child, I would not have had such… patience,” Sebastian added, almost aggressively. Hawke stumbled slightly at his side, and he caught her and set her back on her feet as they reached the stairs before the podium. “Surely Pippa is not…”

“She’s nothing like Anders,” Hawke whispered, meeting her husband‘s eyes in a silent plea for understanding. “Nothing. There’s nothing like Justice influencing her. I vow on everything I find sacred, Sebastian. Say you believe me?”

“I believe you,” Sebastian held her shoulders tenderly. “I promise.”

Cullen cleared his throat, awkward at witnessing the weighted exchange between Champion and Prince, as Pippa took his hand for comfort instead, her Mum too tense to approach - lost in her anger and resentment for her former companion. “It’s all right, Da. We’ll know soon. Rhys will talk to my friends, and they’ll tell him everything he needs to know. They‘ve already worked it out between them.”

“Good,” Asta spat out. “Because I know you’re not dangerous, baby.” Cullen caught her eyes over their daughter‘s head, surprised by the endearment, but smiling slightly at what it implied. Asta flushed a little, but pressed on, angrier than ever, “You’re just a little girl. The sooner everyone figures that out, the less likely I am to try to kill anyone. Up to and including the Divine‘s Right Hand.”

Pippa’s eyes went wide. “Mum… you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Nobody’s killing anyone,” the Champion stated firmly. Cullen blinked and looked at the tall woman, where she still faced her husband, flanked by candles on both sides, rigid with her determination under his hands at her shoulders.

Sebastian chuckled, and some of the tension in the small group diminished. “Varric would claim that’s the first time you’ve ever said that. You do have a tendency to throw flame first and ask questions later, my love.” Hawke cleared her throat, but moved her head to admit the general truth of his statement. “Blessed are the peacemakers?” Sebastian finished, with a tone of amusement. Asta’s disgusted noise echoed in the knave of the Chantry.

Cullen moved forward, to strike a match and set a fat, red candle aflame. Pippa watched him with a smile, and then did the same, much to Asta’s surprise. Champion and Prince moved, her hand clutched in his as her other lit a candle, and then the Ambassador, with a muttered imprecation that no one could quite make out.

“The lyrium will be here tomorrow or I will know why,” Josie quietly informed them as they all watched the flickering, and the wax pooling and slowly cooling into dullness against the glossy tiles. “I’ll check with Enchanter Rhys and Ser Evangeline about their availability immediately.”

***

The setup for the ritual was simple. A basin (borrowed from the College in exchange for a full report of the results of the evening) filled with lyrium next to Pippa’s bed, and a warding circle drawn around both bed and basin, with enough room to accommodate both Rhys and Evangeline. The room was warm, but not overly so, and Pippa was already asleep, even while she was aware that her dreams would have company.

It was more like a bizarre parody of a Circle ritual. Cullen’s sword was missing from his hip by Evangeline’s polite request. The irony was not lost on Cullen, as his fingers twitched at his empty hip while he watched both his daughter sleep, and the other mage be lowered gently to the waiting mat, by the man’s ex-Templar lover. It would never have been like this in the Tower. There would have been no care taken for the mages involved, no tenderness, no worried parents waiting for news of the outcome. He would have been armed, along with at least six of his fellows, and the sands in the hourglass would be sliding, everyone on alert for when they ran out, and the ritual deemed doomed - inevitably ending in blood.

But this was different. The environment was anxious, but also hopeful. The lyrium’s call from the basin was a little quieter than he had expected, and he hoped that it was a good sign.

“And now we wait,” Asta sighed, and leaned up against him. He wrapped his arm around her waist gently - as much for his own reassurance as for hers, appreciating how her weight stilled the tremors in his limbs, and his son‘s increasingly harder kicks thumped against her side and his hand.  He was active tonight, almost rolling, from the feel of him. “How long do these things normally take?” She addressed both him and Ser Evangeline, seeking knowledge where she could find him.

He couldn't suppress a short laugh.  "To my knowledge no one has ever quite... done anything like this before, so..."

“It will take as long as it takes,” Evangeline pushed out with difficulty. “In the Circle… we would take… steps if a mage was under too long but…” her eyes raised to Cullen, still wary of being contradicted by the Commander. “But Rhys…” her voice broke slightly, “will be fine. No matter how long it takes. Are we in agreement, Ser Rutherford?”

“Of course,” Cullen blinked, startled at the knight’s defense of her man, realizing that she saw his presence as a threat to her lover. “I wouldn’t dream…” Evangeline relaxed, and actually chuckled at his unintended pun. “I have no intention of interfering at all, Ser.”

“Good,” she finished, smiling for nearly the first time since they had met. “Now, if you both don’t mind, I have something to do. After the last time we were in the Fade, and I saw how dangerous it could be, I swore that if he ever did it again, I would stand vigil.” Evangeline bent a knee, and folded her hands, and started to chant, instead.

“Many are those who wander in sin,

Despairing that they are lost forever,

But the one who repents, who has faith,

Unshaken by the darkness of the world,”

 

Cullen murmured along.

And boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes

Of the weak, but takes delight

In the Maker’s law and creations,

 

And a small, nearly unheard whisper finished the first verse of Transfigurations 10 with them both, quiet enough for Cullen to ignore easily, knowing it was better to do so than to draw attention to Asta‘s impeccable and seldom recited knowledge of the Chant.

“She shall know the peace of the Maker’s benediction.”

 

Cullen closed his eyes and willed that Pippa would receive just that. A peace that moved into acceptance of her gifts instead of the fear almost everyone held all too tightly.

She was just a child. And surely, her talents were just that - a benediction, not a curse.

He needed it to be a blessing.

 


	38. At Home in the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a crazy amount of lore, research and theories into canon (not so much headcanon here!) all converge in a single chapter.

Rhys opened his eyes to find himself in a pleasant environment, one that looked somewhat like a Circle, but far more welcoming and homelike than the White Spire - even before Kirkwall or the Blight. The chamber looked like a combination bedroom/sitting room, with a large bookcase, full to brimming, with books stacked horizontally on top of those shelved vertically. Two narrow beds lined stone walls, one higher than the other, and three squishy looking but worn armchairs, with more books beside them, and yet larger tomes on top of the small table pushed against the wall, framed by more practical looking stools. He traced his fingers across the titles just before him, regretting that the writing was too blurry to make out. A large picture of a mountain range hung on the wall behind the taller bed. “I love what you’ve done to the place,” he joked to Pippa, who was waiting for him on the edge of the lower bed. “Last time I was in the Fade, we were in Denerim, during the siege of the Archdemon. Such an improvement. May I have a seat?” She had a great deal of potential. Few mages had the talent to bring everything in the Fade into such clear focus. He glanced out of the single window, shutters wide open, presumably to catch a nonexistent breeze, and saw the inevitable Black City. It was always there, in the Fade.

“It looks like where my mother and I lived, before,” Pippa explained, swinging her legs nervously as she nodded. Rhys suddenly understood why the book titles were blurry. She had been too young to read when she lived here. Otherwise, he was sure that every title would have been meticulously recreated, for her comfort, if nothing else. “My friends want to make sure you aren’t going to hurt them, before they meet you. You won‘t, will you?”

“Not unless they try to hurt you or me first,” Rhys agreed readily, sitting down and leaning forward onto his knees with his hands clasped. “I will defend either of us, if they prove it necessary.”

“They won’t, unless someone wants them to,” Pippa tried to explain. “You have to want it bad enough. I never want that but…” she bit her lip as she frowned. “I can’t tell if you ever have. Sometimes I can, but not with you.”

Rhys sighed, “I have never summoned a demon, if that’s what you mean by ‘wanting it bad enough‘. Unless you count my Harrowing, and that demon was arranged by the Templars, I believe. I certainly did not call on or bind it.”

Pippa’s brow cleared. “Then we will probably be okay.” She took a deep breath. “Come out, then, please? I know you heard him. You‘re always listening.”

The first spirit to materialize was a nanny goat, who went to the trouble of actually coming in through what appeared to be a semi-translucent door - one that didn‘t open. It made a bleating noise, making Rhys grin in appreciation, and butted Pippa’s thigh gently. “You don’t have to pretend, Rhys knows what you are,” she whispered to the creature.

“It’s easier for him this way,” the goat spoke easily. “You are Enchanter Rhys, I presume?” The goat’s eyes shone with intelligence, but no calculation in its slitted eyes. Speech aside, that alone made it different from any goat he had ever met since his departure from the Circle, not that there had been that many, even in rural Ferelden.

“I am - and you are?” Rhys asked politely.

“I am Determination,” the goat twisted its head around and tried nibbling at the child’s nightgown.

“Stop that, Mina,” Pippa shoved the goat’s head away. “You don’t have to act like a goat, I said.”

“He needs me to,” the goat laughed bleatingly. “It makes him feel better.”

“Mina?” Rhys raised an eyebrow and scratched under his beard. “Cute,” he teased the child, who grinned back shyly.

“The nickname made it easier for her, when she was younger. Determination is rather a mouthful,” the goat explained fondly. “The others are coming, but we didn’t want to alarm you by showing up all at once. Don‘t kick your legs, Pippa, I‘m going to relax.” The goat laid down, and stretched her legs out sideways, in front of Pippa‘s now still limbs, more protectively than luxuriously. The threat was not lost on Rhys. He had only underestimated a goat once. Being upended face first into the dirt of a Fereldan farmyard was a mistake you didn’t make twice. “You have questions for me, Enchanter. So ask them.”

“I am here to decide if Pippa is possessed, or in danger, and what she is capable of…” Rhys began, somewhat less organized than he would like to be, but still having trouble wrapping his mind around the idea of a spirit appearing as… a goat.

The goat snorted - an odd noise, incongruent with her current appearance. “She needed me, needed a friend, when she learned what she was, who she was, and what happened to her mother. I have no interest in joining her on the other side. Why would I? I wouldn‘t harm her any more than I would harm my own kid.” He belatedly noticed her udders were heavy and idly wondered at the significance of that, in the Fade. Nothing here happened without a reason. “If I joined her, she would be in danger.” The goat tilted her head back up to look at Pippa. “As for what she is capable of… everything. Since we were split there have been few like her. Always less, when once there were so many.” The goat sounded regretful. “We can only copy what we see, but she could learn to create.”

“I… don’t understand entirely,” Rhys struggled. “She is more than a medium, that is evident from her control here…”

“Communication is only one of her talents,” the goat sighed. “It is a strong one, true. That is why I believed you would be a good choice for her teacher.”

Pippa flushed, even in the Fade. “Mum and Da haven’t asked him yet, Mina,” she scolded. “His lover wants to go to Kirkwall. I don’t think it‘s going to work out the way you‘d like it to…”

“It would be a good choice for both of you. He has yet to recognize his true potential. Everyone is so stunted in their development these days,” the goat argued, living up to its professed virtue. “You could teach him as well, and this option is better than…”

Another spirit manifested in a huge, fuzzy, abrupt lump, making room for itself amongst the furniture, shoving Rhys‘ chair forward and tipping him out onto his knees. “Not enough room,” it boomed while Rhys scrambled back to his feet, awkwardly, as if he had joints here to creak and an old injury that had to be favored. “Why do you insist on making the room so small and cramped, Pippa? Every time,” it grumbled kindly. “You’re lucky I don’t land on top of the beds and crush them into sad splinters.”

“You don’t have to be a Druffalo,” Pippa pointed out. “You could be anything. Be a rat, if you don‘t like it. You would fit far easier.”

“I like this form,” it mumbled, already letting its protests go as it settled into a spot directly behind Rhys‘ former chair. “You already started talking about the best teachers, Mina. You were supposed to wait until we were all here…”

“I couldn’t wait forever, Patience,” the goat argued.

“Patience is a Druffalo,” Rhys sighed. “Right.”

“You aren’t unacquainted with me,” the Druffalo opened one eye almost lazily. “Though some of your old friends hated everything I represented. One in particular kept mistaking me for Sloth. So embarrassing, being misunderstood that way, just because I don‘t move fast.”

“Adrian,” Rhys recognized with regret. “Yes, she never had much use for you, did she?” He wondered idly if he should apologize. This was a day for firsts.

“Such disdain,” rumbled Patience. “She would never have found me in the Fade. Even if she had cared to look. Too busy inflaming tempers and inciting riots to control her own. Pity. With me, she could have gone far.”

“No one cares to work hard enough,” the goat grumbled.

Rhys turned back to Pippa, cautiously, “Are these all your friends? Not that two isn‘t quite enough to be going on with, but…”

“No,” she whispered, almost guiltily. “There’s one more but he… he doesn’t like to come, when the Fade looks like this. It makes him sad, even though I‘m most comfortable here. And he says Circle mages don’t believe he’s useful.” She whispered this last, kicking the edge of the bed. “They think he makes them weak, and that the Templars own him.”

Rhys crouched down before her, to try to catch the child’s eyes again. “Mercy. You’re talking about Mercy, aren’t you?”

Pippa nodded, with scared eyes fading back to hopeful ones when he didn‘t recoil. “But you met Compassion. You know that Compassion is misunderstood, and so I know you’ll understand Mercy. Compassion isn’t weak or cruel, but it can be seen that way. People don’t recognize Compassion every time they see it, and don’t remember it when they do. But Mercy makes people angry sometimes…”

“Because you can’t pretend that I haven‘t been there,” a crisp yet gentle voice interrupted, and Rhys scrambled backwards away from the all-too-familiar voice, his back pressing up against his former chair. “If Compassion is a single hidden dagger in the darkness, I am a sword, wielded at noon.”

Rhys swallowed, visibly shaken. “…Mother?” He choked the single word out, even as he admitted it couldn‘t really be her.

“No, I’m just taking this form,” the spirit lifted its chin and sighed. “I thought it would be easier - Pippa claims its easier when we look like something she knows. I knew this meeting was a terrible idea,” it was addressing Determination now, neatly ignoring him. “But you would insist…”

“An animal would be fine…” Rhys protested his exclusion.

The spirit wrinkled its nose, looking down the appendage at him. “So inelegant. I’m not a shape shifter, Rhys. I‘m not as young as I once was, either. I‘m not going away, now that I’ve made the effort. You‘ll get used to it.”

Pippa frowned, “Mercy, you’re being rude to my guest.”

“Should I take the form of his Templar father then?” The spirit that looked like Wynne lifted a single eyebrow. “I doubt that would reassure him, given my nature. I have his attention now, and I need to keep it.”

“Who was…” Rhys shook his head. “I don’t want to know. Really. Stay like this, then. I… I will…”

“You cannot ignore Mercy,” Patience reminded him gently. “She won’t let you. She chose this form as much for that reason as for any other.”

“I wouldn‘t dare ignore her,” he said in a much smaller voice. His mother had been impossible to ignore, even when it was really her instead of something… other. “Are all of you here now?”

“Except for the wolf, yes,” Mercy settled itself into the other chair with a slow sigh. Rhys could even hear the cracking of her joints - just like his mother before… He shook his head to clear it of the thoughts. “I just made sure he was otherwise occupied this evening. He will not be disturbing us.”

“The wolf is not my friend,” Pippa corrected. “I’ve never even spoken to him. He just… hangs around at a distance.”

“He’s watching you,” Determination bleated, and then corrected herself, with an air of embarrassment. “Excuse me. We keep telling you. It’s why this had to be done. Rhys will know…”

“What will I know?” Rhys interrupted, his mind still whirling with the spirits surrounding him, and interacting with him on this level. Was this, too, one of Pippa‘s talents? Spirits were rarely this forward or clear, in his experience, unless they had regularly socialized with the same person. How much time had Pippa spent with her friends in the Fade? “What the Void am I supposed to know?”

“The wolf watches,” Patience supplied gracefully - also unusual in a Druffalo. “He’s looking for people - people like Pippa.”

“People like _him,_ ” Mercy instructed, with every inflection that he had ever learned to associate with the woman it was emulating. “He isn’t sure - yet - but he knows that there was at least one half-elf with the ability…” Rhys’s eyes swiveled to Pippa in surprise, his mouth half open. “Don’t be distracted,” the spirit barked, and he straightened up and closed his mouth with a snap, despite the knowledge that this was not his mother, “with her gifts. That one was sent to Tevinter and is probably irrevocably corrupted by now, knowing how they train their Dreamers.” She sighed loudly. “Such a waste.”

“Excuse me, but I didn’t realize that spirits could tell the difference between the races.” Rhys sat back on his heels, still crouching on the floor. He rearranged his robes so that he could sit crosslegged, still cautious, but not sensing any demons at the moment, and needing the imagined structure of the chilly stone floors and the itchy contrast of the ragged wool rug more than any comfort from the overstuffed chair. This place was as safe as he had ever felt, in the Fade. It would be simple to lose himself in how real it felt, otherwise.

“Pippa has explained it, and since then, we have watched, and listened. There are Sleepers, and there are Dreamers, to us,” Patience explained, well, patiently. Rhys’ mouth twitched slightly. “Otherwise it is difficult to tell. The Elvhen are brighter, and Qunari more dim, in most cases. But he mostly looks for the elves - not without reason.”

“Dreamers,” Rhys cleared his throat, far more uncomfortable. Were they suggesting…

“Southern Circles make them Tranquil, without question,” Mercy lowered her gaze. “They call on me, when they do it. Because they could talk to dragons, otherwise. A fate to be avoided, so they say. But in the Imperium, they encouraged communication, not so long ago. It led to many other things being encouraged. Horrible things.” She curled her lip. “I’d rather not go into them in front of the child.”

“Dragons…” Rhys had paled at the word. “Do you mean…”

“What do I mean? Is it what you think I mean? Are we even speaking the same language?” The spirit leaned forward, its borrowed hands resting on the easy chair, as porcelain as his mother’s hands had ever looked, blue veins framed by rings that looked so familiar. “You modern mages think you have such great understanding - but you’re _children_. You have no memory, no…” it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that it wasn’t Wynne lecturing him on his limited understanding of how the world outside the Circle worked.

“Mercy!” Patience - of all the spirits present - called it back to order, its furry hackles up, and reminding Rhys vaguely of Ser Cullen. “Do not let your desire to educate the masses about your true nature overwhelm our reason for this meeting! There will be opportunities to explain, if you wait…”

“We’ve been waiting,” Determination argued implacably. “The time for waiting is over!”

Patience sighed, and ruffled its pelt back into place with a fuzzy shake. “I’m going to take control. You’re all so hasty, pushing to give him answers to questions he hasn‘t asked yet.” The spirit settled itself and swiveled a massive eye to pin him in place. “Rhys, Pippa is a Dreamer. We have taken it upon ourselves to protect her, and begin to teach her how to protect herself, without taking liberties she is unwilling to give and we have no desire to take. But as she grows older, and her connection and control improves, she is reaching the age…” the Druffalo paused, almost primly.

“She is reaching the age when her talents would manifest naturally, and expose her as a mage, if it wasn‘t already known,” Rhys provided slowly, marveling. “What happens to a Dreamer when…”

“We have protected her,” the goat bleated, and then cleared her throat. “Sorry. Habit.” Pippa giggled and the goat rolled its slitted eyes comically. “From those of us that would cause her pain.” Rhys scrambled to understand, and the answer fell into place. Demons. Demons hurt Dreamers, with their very presence. But why? “We’ve taught her what we can. Now she needs… a teacher like her.”

“I still think the Avvar are the best choice,” Patience began, “Those spirits would help - they have experience in the world, however isolated their lives… surely an Augur would… and her Mam is a member of the Hold…”

“Her Da would never allow it,” Mercy interrupted what was obviously a familiar argument. “You can take the Templar out of the Circle but…” the spirit shook its head, “It would be cruel to ask such a thing of him. He has seen too much. And there is always the risk that the teaching spirit would either refuse to leave, or that Pippa would grow too dependent on their company.” Mercy eyed Pippa gently. “She has been a very lonely child. Lonely children are too prone to such things as adults.”

Rhys rested his head in his hand, completely overwhelmed at the task before him. “My understanding is that Master Cerastes is her instructor…”

“His talents are vastly inferior, though if he worked harder, they would improve,” Determination criticized. “Most Tevinter mages are notoriously lazy, though he is better than most. His interests, however, do not align with Pippa’s gifts. He will do, for now. We have no better alternative, since she does not have the option of staying behind with the Champion. Another one who could do far, far better with a little more application,” the goat muttered irritably, and eyed Rhys as if he was a bug. “As could you. Your education did you few favors.”

Mercy spoke, far more gently, “Petri’s contributions have been considerable, thus far. Don’t discount him so readily. The knitting alone has improved her attention to detail…”

“Everything still ends up triangles,” the child grumbled.

“But you leave fewer holes, now. You’ll learn tension control, in time. In any case, Mercy, I’m not discounting anyone, but she needs more than Petri can give, however willing,” Determination spoke firmly.

“Quit talking as if I’m not here,” Pippa muttered rebelliously.

“Then contribute,” Patience sighed. “We all agreed at one point that you were the most likely to help in any significant way, Enchanter.” The Druffalo paused, “But time is running out, as much as it grates my nature to admit it.” Determination snorted again.

“The wolf is watching,” Mercy repeated. “You do realize who - if not what - the wolf is?” Both eyebrows lifted, and he nearly flinched at the memories of that specific look, icy - and yet warm - blue eyes so singularly focused on him in near disappointment, and hardly maternal. Whether because of his own failures or her own, he had never been able to determine. The spirit‘s eyes clouded, “It was always her shortcomings, Rhys, not yours. She was proud of you. But… she couldn‘t fight everything your father represented.”

“The rumors about the wolf are…” Rhys hesitated, shaking his thoughts free again, disconcerted by how easily the spirit saw into his private thoughts. No wonder Pippa could barely help sharing such personal matters. The spirits must spend most of their time doing something like eavesdropping and then gossiping about what they heard. “The rumors have been that…”

“He’s Solas,” Determination inserted bluntly. “Pride. The Dread Wolf. Fen’Harel. There’s no point being squeamish. And even if Pippa doubts his intentions, she has drawn the Dread Wolf’s eye. None of us were born yesterday, and silly elven tales aside, we all know what that means.” All three spirits nodded in near unison. “He tracks. He watches. You‘ll never even know he‘s there if he doesn‘t want to be seen. He will not strike until he sees an opportunity. An opportunity that we have not given him here.” The goat sounded rather admiring. “He will come for her in another way.”

“It’s a shame that her Da let his dog go home. He could have helped guard her physically. Solas thinks twice when dogs are on guard. But it‘s just a matter of time, in any case,” Patience murmured placidly, but not without concern.

“Until…” Rhys prompted when the spirit didn’t continue. “What kind of prey is a small child, exactly?” He laughed uncomfortably, “He’s not going to eat her, is he? He may be an Elvhen god, but I‘ve never heard they practiced cannibalism. Wolves don‘t attack people unless...” unless they threaten them first, or if they are starving. But surely this small child still sitting on the bed was no threat to an Elvhen legend?

The Druffalo opened one large eye to face him. “Until he comes for her, as well. He merely waits for confirmation of what she is. He has been disappointed before. We all know what she is, whether she has taken the reins of her connection yet or not. She’s too bright - she draws the attention of every spirit in the Fade when we aren‘t shielding her. She Dreams too well to be anything else.”

Pippa twisted her fingers into her nightgown, white knuckled. “I don’t want to leave Mum and Da. I don’t know if my friends are right, they’ve been wrong before, though they don‘t like to admit it…” Patience rumbled an amiable chuckle, while Mercy scowled and Determination snorted. “But I don’t want to go. They don’t think I should have to.”

  
“How can I teach a Dreamer?” Rhys began, trying to remain as placid as the Druffalo across from him. “I have no idea…”

“Calm yourself, or our protections for Pippa will fail, and you will call something dire to this place,” Patience shifted her pelt and faded back into a spirit form, glowing golden in the outline of a person. “I’m sorry, Pippa. I did try, but your guest is growing agitated. Your safety comes first. I can maintain our barriers better this way.”

“It’s alright,” the child whispered. “I know you’re the youngest.” The former Druffalo floated over and touched her face with a hand. Pippa took a small breath, seemingly gathering her courage. “Enchanter, I know its not as easy as my friends seem to think. I’m not even going to ask what they want me to ask. I just want you to understand, so you can explain to Mum and Da, and hopefully keep them from freaking out about this. I want to stay with them, if they‘ll let me. I’m happy with them. I don’t want to stay in Starkhaven, even if Hawke was willing. Mum and Da would be miserable here. They want something different for the four of us.”

“Four?” Rhys had a belated realization, “The Inquisitor is pregnant?”

Pippa giggled. “Mum wouldn‘t mind if you just thought she was fat. She thinks everyone is giggling at the pregnant Inquisitor. She‘s being silly.”

“I’ve hardly been around many pregnant women,” he justified. “It didn’t happen often, where I come from.” The topic made him slightly uncomfortable, given his own birth and removal from his mother. Families were an awkward subject, for most mages.

Patience floated around behind the child. “Time ran out before things could be different. She waited, hoping, but he failed her. Duty trumped love, left her arms empty. She protected him, as he couldn‘t her. She watched them both leave her behind, in the end. He couldn‘t stay, she couldn‘t hold either.”

Mercy spoke, “She forgave, but neither could forget. Blue erased it all, in time, the good and the bad. Perhaps it was easier, but it wasn‘t better.” That gaze pinned him down again. “Easy is rarely better. Remember that, Rhys.”

“That is private,” Pippa chastised the spirits. “You promised you wouldn’t do that to him. You know how upset it makes people.”

“He’s used to Compassion,” Determination argued. “Surely it can’t be all that strange.”

“Right…” Rhys sighed, and attempted to change the subject. “I will tell your parents what you’ve told me.” He paused, “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“There is always more you need to know,” Mercy chastised him again, but more… tenderly? She was not his mother. His mother was not tender. “But for now, this is enough. The whole truth would overwhelm you. In this, Patience is right. We must wait until you ask the questions.”

Determination bleated a laugh, “Or until her Mum does. If that woman wasn’t a Sleeper…”

Patience sighed, “You like her too much, Mina. It’s only a matter of time before Pippa shines even brighter. When that happens, we must be ready.” She stroked the child’s hair. “It’s time, Pippa. You should Wake him. You could use the practice. Do it just how we told you.”

“Thank the Enchanter for his time, first,” bleated the goat firmly.

Pippa stood up, swinging her legs off the bed, deftly avoiding the goat still on the floor, and touched his shoulder with a smile. “Thank you, Enchanter, for coming to meet my friends and listening to what they have to say. But… it‘s time to wake up now.” A shot of pure willpower bored into his brain, and his vision faded into white as he was forcibly expelled from her sanctuary in the Fade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... theories on the Somniari. I believe Solas is taking the elves because each and every one has the ability to cast magic, to some degree, except that the Veil has rendered most people - except for the ones with the strongest connection to the Fade, for one reason or another (and that's a whole other set of theories) - Tranquil, from his point of view. He woke up in a world full of Tranquil. But his removal of the elves serves two purposes - he's trying to set them free (or at least using that as an excuse to rally them), and simultaneously searching for others like him.
> 
> Because he's a wolf. Wolves don't travel alone. If they are lone wolves, they search for a pack, and are content to remain as the lowest member in order to be accepted (That normally does not happen). But he's not used to being alone, either. He's trying to restore what was lost. And that means he needs Somniari. And for those of you that have read my fic 'Demands of the Champion' you know that Hawke told him about Feynriel being a Dreamer. Feynriel was half-elf.
> 
> I also think that's why Magisters encourage sexual relationships with slaves - because human Dreamers are rarer, as their connection with the Fade is lesser in general. Children with elf parents get a boost. I think it's likely that most elves have a connection to the Fade, which manifests differently due to what the Chantry named 'arcanist derangement' (see Asunder.) - where magic denied a proper direction finds a different direction to flow. (Like Sera with archery, and Dalish, to some degree. Explaining why she's 'not a mage'.)
> 
> I have massive headcanons about what this means for Alistair, but they don't feature in this fic, so I'll leave you guessing. ;) But I think there is a reason that Isolde decided that it was best for him to become a Templar, beyond just that she wanted him out of her household once her son was born.
> 
> Catching the Dread Wolf's eye means something far different than how it was interpreted by the Dalish, in any case.


	39. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Rhys bolted upright, confused and dizzy, his limbs heavy and his mind spinning with the implications of the odd gathering. “Maker’s Breath,” he groaned. Evangeline was already by his side, supporting his back and checking his vitals. “I’m fine, Evangeline,” he rolled his eyes, but his hands shook, as if he had gone too long without eating, or drank too much tea in one sitting - the usual result of a large amount of lyrium use combined with complete immersion in a complicated spell.

“Forgive me for caring,” Evangeline threw back, and continuing her ministrations all the same, her fingers on his pulse, and peering into his dilated eyes. “It never gets easier, Rhys,” her voice cracked again.

Rhys focused his eyes on the child in the bed. Pippa grumbled in her sleep and rolled over, Cullen standing protectively over her. “I think she’s just… dreaming now,” he opined. “A little hard to tell,” he smiled nervously at Asta, who came over to take his hand. “I had no idea she was such an active sleeper. How did I not know?”

“Because you sleep like the dead, when you sleep at all,” Asta laughed, but quietly, so as not to disturb the child. “Take your time recovering, Enchanter,” she offered. “If you’d rather talk tomorrow…” She hadn’t missed his shaking, or wild eyes. I suppose you didn’t get made the Inquisitor by being unobservant.

“No, I need to explain… a few things.” Evangeline pressed her lips together, obviously swallowing her protests about his exhaustion and the Fade energy pulsing around him, looking for a release. “I don‘t think it should wait.”

“Let’s go into the main room, then,” Asta sighed, trying to prepare herself for the worst, and waving them through the bedroom door. She decanted them each a glass of wine with her own shaking hands, and sat down with her own glass of water, her hand over what was now obviously a pregnant belly. Evangeline would say he was a blind fool. No doubt she had noticed upon their first meeting. The Inquisitor was brave, given her next words. “So, is she…”

“No,” Rhys grinned easily now, effectively hiding his own disquiet. “She is not.” Cullen released a deep, long held breath, and Asta slumped against his side in relief. “Her friends are… just friends, albeit very… caring ones. For spirits. Uncorrupted, thus far. May they only remain so. And I think they will, as long as they remain on their side of the Veil. They seem to have no desire to venture over or alter their purpose. They are no wisps, unformed and wavering. These are… mature spirits, with purpose and drive. And they have made her protection their priority.”

“That’s good,” Cullen murmured, “I think?”

“Then what was so important?” Asta pressed. “Why did they need you so badly? No offense to your considerable skills, Enchanter, but if she is so well protected, why did they have Pippa insisting that we drag you clear into the Free Marches?”

“They - there are three - are Determination, Patience, and… Mercy.” Rhys’ face went hard, and Evangeline, keyed into his moods, took his hand. “Later,” he whispered to her. “The face it took doesn’t have any bearing on Pippa. It was purely for my benefit.” Evangeline, wary, nodded. “It’s all right, Evangeline.” The corners of her lips creased. There would be an argument, later, evidently. Nothing unusual about that. “I’m not sure where to begin, otherwise,” Rhys confessed, rubbing his jaw. “While she is not possessed, the truth is… going to be difficult for either of you to grasp. But your daughter is…,“ he paused, not for effect, but to gather his thoughts, scattered like dandelion seeds in a gust of wind. “Ser Cullen, are you familiar with the concept of a Somniari?”

Asta choked on her water, and narrowly avoided spilling it, setting it down next to her. “How?” Cullen asked, eyes widened and face tight.

“I’m not sure how,” Rhys confessed. “Spirits have their limitations, and I have my own. But they were sure of it. They insist upon her being trained. They determined…” he chuckled to himself, remembering the goat, “that I was the best candidate, of those available.”

“You’re not a Dreamer,” Evangeline corrected, tightening her grip on his hand, staring at the floor with her own impressive determination. “You’re a spirit medium.”

“Correct,” Rhys sighed. “I’m inadequate and they know it. They made that quite clear. But the options are limited. Either its me or…”

“The Imperium,” Cullen muttered unhappily, his eyes darting back to the closed door of his daughter‘s bedroom. “That is _not_ an option. Even if we hadn’t burned our bridges behind us.” Asta pressed her lips together, as if she disagreed, ever so slightly.

“There is one more issue,” Rhys hesitated. “She is being… watched. Her friends are protecting her, with all of themselves. I could sense how much energy they pour into keeping her safe in the Fade. She helps them, because, as she says, ‘she never wants to see the bad ones’, but its largely their… assistance that shields her. In time she may be able to do it herself, she has control far beyond her years, but…”

“Who is watching her?” Cullen growled, frustrated and impotent at the mage’s rambling explanations.

“They call him the Wolf,” Rhys stated bluntly, “And identified him as Fen’Harel. Apparently, she’s exactly what he’s looking for.” He flicked his eyes back and forth between the two parents opposite him. “So it’s true, about the disappearances? Val Foret had some - but the commanding officers told us it was desertion at first, and then that they had left to go back to their families - the Dalish do seem to have a great devotion to their clans - many of them collected their pay before leaving, even if they didn‘t discuss their plans in great detail beforehand.”

“The rumors are true,” Asta replied in a near whisper. “But Solas wants Pippa? Why?”

“Because she’s a Dreamer,” Cullen closed his eyes, pain warring with fear. “Asta, love, if he intends to tear down the Veil, he’s going to need help reshaping the Fade, unless he wants to live in a nightmare.”

“And he believes she is one of the few remaining,” Rhys clarified. “Although I’m reading between the lines. Some of Pippa‘s… friends were all too willing to lecture me on my failings in favor of staying on topic.” He took a quiet breath in memory of the spirit that wore his mother‘s face. “I may need to do this again, Evangeline. I’m sorry. I know it troubles...”

“He cannot have her,” Cullen interrupted, scowling.

“He truly is a Creator,” Asta breathed, lost in her own thoughts. “A Somniari, an original Dreamer. Perhaps even the First Dreamer… perhaps there really is a Maker…”

Evangeline shuddered - either at her blasphemy or at the idea of him going back into the Fade, he could not tell - but Rhys quieted her with a touch. “I don’t know about any of that,” he stated simply. He had never been a devout man. “But your daughter is in danger. And she needs to learn.” He rose, recognizing that his control was quickly lapsing. “I cannot offer my services without first talking to my…” Evangeline squeezed his wrist.

“You’ll do it,” she demanded immediately. “You know how Dreamers were treated in the Circle.”

“There was a Tranquil in Haven,” Cullen’s eyes were still closed, tense with remembered interactions. “She claims that before she was made Tranquil, that she spoke to dragons. To have a Dreamer in the Circle is every Templar’s worst nightmare. Kirkwall had one and Hawke sent him first to the Dalish, since he was a half-elf. But their Keeper failed, and so Hawke sent him to Tevinter, to try to preserve his gift. The Circle would have made him Tranquil without question, the first time his gifts proved… dangerous to himself or others.”

“But we are catching her abilities early,” Evangeline stressed, pulling Rhys back down to sit next to her. “With proper training, surely we can avoid… Rhys, tell me I‘m right?” Rhys was silent. He truly didn’t know, and he was losing his grip - his thoughts all over the place and the remnants of the lyrium‘s song jarring discordantly along his bones.

“We have to risk it,” Cullen’s eyes shot back open, and Rhys shook his head at the echo of determination he saw in the father’s eyes. Never had a man looked more like a goat. “There’s no other option. She’s not going to Solas. That’s certain.” Rhys looked at the Inquisitor, and saw her hesitancy.

“Can you recommend a good book on the Somniari?” Asta asked, confusion in her voice. “I think… I think I need to educate myself. I knew that Solas was one, but… but I had no idea they were so rare… or so dangerous.” She frowned, remembering, “He brings the Nightmare,” she muttered. “Fen’Harel is a Dreamer… but he brings the Nightmare. Why?”

“Ask Petri? It seems closer to his field than anyone else we could ask.” Cullen instructed, more hopeful than optimistic. Asta nodded, and they were all silent for a moment.

“I don’t understand why, exactly, Somniari are so dangerous. Pippa isn‘t dangerous!” Asta’s voice broke. “She would have been… so quickly? As a child if they deemed it necessary?”

“Not in Dairsmuid," Cullen swallowed, tragedy haunting his eyes. “But in Kirkwall - yes. As soon as she presented a danger and possibly before…” Asta squeezed his hand when it started to shake. Rhys looked at his hand with a strangely narrow focus - he wasn’t the only one that needed to retire after exposure to lyrium, perhaps.

“At the Spire as well,” Evangeline grated harshly. “We talked loudly about education, making sure the rare gifts were appreciated and trained, but fear ruled, not logic. We were all divided, and into far more groups than just Templars and Mages. Rhys can tell you.” They all sat in silence, sipping and slowing their heartbeats. “We have to do this differently, Rhys.” She raised her eyes to meet his worriedly. “Please. If she is truly not possessed, can we save her?” She cared so much.

Rhys glanced away, doubting himself, his abilities, everything that made up who he was, and scratched under his beard thoughtfully. “I will try,” he allowed at last. “I hope the College here has some materials. I will speak to Master Cerastes, and we will determine a course of action together. Perhaps… perhaps in the Imperium Somniari are a little more common than they are here.” He sighed. “Her friends said demonic presences would… hurt her.” He shuddered, remembering his own sensitivity to demons. But surely he did not have the talent… Mercy’s words echoed through his hollow seeming brain, and then Determination’s, a ghostly admonition about his wasted potential.

“My experiences with the Avvar would suggest the same,“ Asta remembered suddenly. “Cullen, Ameridan’s lover, Telana - she was a Dreamer. And Dorian said the same thing…“ a sudden scared expression crossed her face. “Telana _died_ , trying to find Ameridan in her dreams. Cullen…“

“Don’t borrow trouble, love,“ Cullen whispered, even while he tightened his grip on her hand. “It will take time to develop her gifts. She is not in danger, not yet.“

 _Probably,_ Rhys thought, stifling his inclination to say it aloud with great difficulty. “I will start teaching her wards, and protections,” Rhys attempted reassurance. “Even if she cannot cast them yet, she will know the basics as soon as she can. Her focus is incredible - if you could only see the detail she is already capable of…” he was raving, he realized belatedly, but was unable to stop the effusion of praise.

“You keep saying that,” Asta observed dryly, evidently trying to dispel her own fear with facetiousness. “It might be a family trait. When I had the mark Solas said something very similar. Of course, since I had his mark at the time, I can explain it away as a borrowed ability.”

Rhys managed to grin at the Inquisitor, “Your daughter comes by this gift naturally. No mark needed.” He paused, “Her… friends indicated that it would not be long. You’ll… want to be aware.”

Cullen braced himself, and Asta laid her hand on his thigh. “I have already been watching for further developments in her talents.” He paused. “If Varric were here, he’d be taking bets,” he murmured to his wife, trying to release the tension still present in the room, even while he tried to disguise his shivering. “Ice? Fire? Lightening? Spirit?”

Rhys laughed aloud, slightly louder than was appropriate, as if he were drunk, though he had barely taken a sip of the wine he held. “If she doesn’t manifest as a spirit mage first, you’ll know I’m not doing my job.” Evangeline shoved him slightly with her arm. She wasn’t known for her easy sense of humor. She should have let him leave the room when he tried, if she was embarrassed with him like this.

“My money is on fire,” Asta tried a smile, and it didn’t fit too awkwardly. “Definitely not ice.” The smile fell away after a moment as she curled further into Cullen for comfort, and the mage rose, followed by Evangeline.

“I’ll let you both try to get some rest,” he looked out the window, and saw false dawn lightening the sky. “I could use some myself, actually. Shall we get out of their hair, my dear?” He smiled, vulnerable under his fatigue. He had been under far longer than his discussion with the spirits would have otherwise indicated.

“Absolutely,” Evangeline promised, and took his arm when he wavered a little. “You’ve got to quit overdoing things, Rhys,” she scolded quietly. “You’re not young anymore, to be staying up all night casting wonders and then discussing them afterward over a glass of wine.”

“Always with the getting old,” teased Rhys as they left the room. “You’re not that much younger than me. I’m just hitting my stride.” He allowed her to reach around and support him a little more, all the same, and he kissed her black hair, where it was starting to streak white at her temple.

“I’ll hit you over the head if you don’t get some sleep,” Evangeline swore, and then paused. “Rhys… was it so different than the last time? You seem… tense.” Their last experience together in the Fade had made her so fearful, imagining that demons like the Fear that had taken Cole’s father’s form, or that of the Archdemon, were everywhere, feeding inexorably and constantly.

A little reassurance would not come amiss here, either. “Imagine a tea party in a recreated Circle with a little girl, a Druffalo, a goat, and my dead mother as the guests.” Evangeline stumbled slightly. “It wasn’t really Wynne,” he corrected unnecessarily. “But the spirit took her appearance, to put me on edge and make me accept what she had to say without questioning.” The idea made his muscles want to twitch, even as he found it harder and harder to stay upright.

“That’s…” Evangeline was lost for words, “Odd?”

“You said it,” Rhys agreed. “I hardly think that’s going to be the oddest thing that happens, if I take Pippa on as an apprentice. Spirits and demons are deft at becoming what they need to be, after all.”

“An apprentice,” sighed Evangeline, torn on his behalf. “You’ve never… not even in the Spire… did you?” He had been a senior enchanter, but his area of expertise was unusual and extremely unpopular. And she knew how much he hated to fail. For an apprentice to fail their Harrowing - a fairly common result - would have ripped out his soul, left him hollow.

“Never,” Rhys swallowed. “I’ve never had a student study directly under me, only taught beginning classes. But… she’ll be starting at the beginning.” His face firmed as his lady led him to their bed. “I can do this. It‘s not as if I don‘t have help.”

“Of course you can, and of course I‘ll help,” she murmured before pushing him over to fall down on the bed so she could remove his shoes.

He recognized the signs, and knew she did as well - their years together making her aware of his use of magic like no one else ever had. His brain remained active, even as his body gave out. When he jittered like this afterward, the euphoric high of the casting warring with his personal exhaustion, he would fall asleep anywhere, even as the mana and mental energy still pulsed through his body. There was no way he would be able to stay awake to release the pent up energy now. In this, as so many other things, she insisted on caring for him. “You can sleep, now, Rhys. I have you. Don’t make me knock you out.” Evangeline managed to make her threat sound loving.

“I wouldn’t complain,” Rhys managed to tease. “Love taps. That‘s all you ever give me now. You wouldn‘t dare damage the goods any further. You enjoy them too much.” He pried both eyes open just enough to meet hers, a deep blue, restful and serene.

Evangeline huffed irritably, a smile playing around her lips as she disrobed, watching him sink further into the bed as his body relaxed involuntarily, even as his eyes twitched under his eyelids, making connections that he hadn‘t made in the Fade, a million and one further inquiries to make scrolling before his eyes. “Don‘t flatter yourself, Enchanter,” she sighed and pulled him up further, closer to the pillow roll, her muscles shifting under her skin, scarred from their experiences, but still powerful enough to tug him where he needed to be when he couldn‘t get there himself, and protect him - when he let her. He attempted to move, to bring his shaky limbs under a semblance of control to assist her somehow. “I know all your weaknesses, Rhys. I‘d bring you to your knees in a matter of minutes.”

“Is that a threat…” a huge yawn broke up the pitiful attempt at flirting, as well as his own feeble movements towards the headboard, “or a promise, Knight-Captain?”

“Quit being ridiculous and sleep, already, you stubborn man.” Her voice was quiet as she settled him to where she wanted him to be, snuggling under his all-too scratchy chin. “I‘ll have them bring you up a salt bath first thing in the morning,” she muttered. He tried to thank her, needing the release of the charged bath after having so much lyrium boosting his normal abilities, but failed, as his facial muscles were no longer under his control. The last thing he remembered was the familiar feel of her hair against his neck, smooth and sleek and cool, more soothing than even the warm water would feel in the morning.

If she was there, he wouldn‘t end up like Pharamond. She’d never let him.

***

With the departure of the mage and former Templar, Asta tried to get up, to move around, but Cullen tightened his arm around her. “Please, don’t…” his muscles quivered. “I…”

“Cullen,” Asta shifted to face him. “What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” he tried to cover his face, to hide. “Asta, I’m not sure… I’m not sure I’m strong enough. Not for this. If Pippa is a Dreamer… Dreamers were the reason that the Circle and the College began!” His voice sounded very harsh. “They can warp and bend other’s minds, enter their dreams! There hasn’t been a stable Dreamer in ages! It’s possible that Telana was the last one,” he bored his eyes, haunted and hollow into hers, breathing through his nose.

“The question is… why?” Asta asked gently. “Why were - are - they so dangerous? Cullen, you need to recognize that we don’t know _anything._ What if the Chantry was wrong, shutting them away, closing off their abilities like that?”

“Is it better that they are allowed to talk to the old gods?” Cullen growled.

“Now, the Tranquil in Haven said that she could talk to dragons, not the old gods. There aren‘t that many old gods left,” Asta corrected precisely. “You are overreacting, slightly, love. I’m scared, too, but only because of everything we don’t know. I’ll write to Fiona, and to anyone else that might be helpful. Do you think Hawke remembers the name of the Dalish clan that the Dreamer belonged to? I could write to their Keeper, perhaps?”

“Sabrae,” Cullen supplied, trying to calm himself. “But Asta, if we can’t teach Pippa how to control her gifts… how to tell reality from a dream… If the Dalish, with all their preserved knowledge couldn‘t… Asta, without Tranquility… the only thing left is…”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Asta said firmly, breaking in before he could say the word. “Rhys said she showed promise.” She paused, realizing what the real issue was. “That’s not what you’re really afraid of.”

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked cautiously. “Of course I’m…”

“No,” Asta interrupted. “You’re afraid because you won’t be able to stop demons from hurting her. You can’t erase every demon from existing, and you know that they’ll cause her pain.” She took his hand again. “You love her, and you don’t want her to hurt.”

“I…” Cullen squeezed his eyes shut and admitted it. “I can’t protect her from this. No one can.”

“So… we teach her to protect herself,” Asta squeezed his hand. “We make her stronger than any Dreamer ever.” Her voice was fierce. “Now, we should try to sleep.” Cullen opened his damp eyes to give her a skeptical look. “I said, try, Ser Knight. I’m not likely to get any rest, either, but we have a little girl who has had a full night’s sleep that will be talking our ears off in about four hours, if we’re lucky.” She tugged on his hand. “Come on. Hold me, Cullen. Tomorrow is already here, with its own troubles.  No point worrying about them now.  We'll figure out a strategy in the morning.”

They laid down on their bed, almost gingerly, curled around each other.  Cullen closed his eyes again, and oddly, sleep came.

Perhaps because for once his reality was scarier than any dream.

 


	40. Shocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... you get an early, very long chapter this week, as I'll be tied up in meetings all day tomorrow. Let's call this NSFW Wednesday, shall we?
> 
> NSFW before the end. You'll see it coming a mile away if you want to avoid it.
> 
> Thank you, everyone who commented on the last two chapters! Writing in a minor character's voice is really hard, and I hope I did Rhys justice. I'm glad people enjoyed the spirit descriptions.
> 
> Also, I'm going to post another chapter of Lights in the Shadow on Friday, I think. If I agonize over it any longer, I'll go crazy.

“I have to say, Master Cerastes,” Rhys complimented, as they readied themselves in the training ring of the palace several days later, having arranged a demonstration on defensive magics for their mutual pupil, “that the steps you’ve taken so far with Pippa are excellent. I couldn’t believe the amount of focus she could generate in the Fade - at her age! I could even feel the scratchy wool rug. She mentioned that you had her start knitting? I wasn‘t sure if they even used needlework as a focus exercise in the Imperium…”

“Yes, well,” Petri sputtered at the other mage, embarrassed at the approval of his teaching skills. “I did my best. There’s no point in having her shock the shit out of someone - and not in the good way - when the rest of her connection establishes itself. If it happens suddenly, it can be a nasty surprise, and her Da,” he winked at Cullen, weighing the balance of the practice swords nearby, “always wears metal armor. Most inconvenient when it arcs in an attempt to ground itself.”

“There’s a good way to shock someone?” Cullen muttered a little too loudly to keep it strictly to himself, lining up with a training dummy and his selected weapon, having completed his morning stretches and forms.

“You have _no_ idea,” muttered Sebastian to Cullen as he passed behind him to take aim at the archery target.

“Really?” Cullen started, surprised at the emotion in the Prince’s voice. “I’d heard rumors in the Circle, naturally, but I assumed they were exaggerated… surely using magic - in that way - is inadvisable and dangerous…”

“You poor sheltered man,” Hawke purred, and wrapped her arms around her husband from behind. “Should have taken a mage lover, Ser Cullen. They would have shown you a few things.” She winked and zapped Sebastian with a quick kiss to the ear, at the crucial moment when he released his arrow.

“Maker take you, Hawke,” Sebastian cursed when his arrow went far wide. “Time and place! I could have hit someone!”

The overt display made Cullen blush, and turn back to his selected immobile enemy with a frown.

“Put a shirt on, if you don’t want to be accosted. You’re a walking temptation to every one in this palace, training like that,” Hawke defended her actions appreciatively. “Then again, if you do, I’ll suffer instead.” Sebastian made no move to retrieve his shirt, though his cheekbones flushed brown and his lips turned up, just barely, at the corners. “Why _didn’t_ you just find someone, Cullen? Half the mages in Kirkwall would have jumped your bones gladly. The giggles about your hair alone were so common as to be annoying. The Templar recruits were the same way - wondering what was under the armor of the oh-so-solemn Knight-Captain. They were convinced that you had taken a vow of celibacy or some shit like that,” Sebastian winced at her words, a subtle reminder of his own abandoned vows, but brought his bow back up to the target and lined up another arrow.

“There was quite enough of that… sort of thing… already in the Gallows. Templars taking unfair advantage, I mean,” Cullen cleared his throat. “I was trying to set a good example as Knight-Captain. Becoming… involved with one of the Order‘s recruits would have been a conflict of interest and fraternization.” He eyed his daughter, sitting on the sidelines, watching her two instructors pair off with great interest, and hoping she was too far away to overhear the inappropriateness of the conversation - or at the very least that she wouldn‘t understand some of the larger vocabulary words or idiom. On the other hand, he wasn’t that lucky, and his daughter was far too well-read. “Besides, even if those… issues hadn’t been a factor, no one caught my eye, be they mage, Templar or civilian.” It was far better to have them assume that he merely wasn‘t interested, than recognize the truth of his trauma. It was a partial truth, in any case.

“Right, as if you would have been ‘taking advantage‘ of another consenting adult,” snickered Hawke. “Obviously your ’good example as Knight-Captain’ helped tremendously in the final outcome of both the final battle, and your losing battle with your own unpopped cherry.” Cullen flushed and he distinctly heard his daughter giggle. Surely she didn’t understand… but luckily, Hawke decided he had had enough torment, “I’m taking down the winner,” she called out to Rhys and Petri. “So play to lose, both of you!”

Petri groaned, “Can I just forfeit now?” Rhys just laughed at him and signaled his readiness, and they cast their barriers, shimmering curtains of light slowly coming into existence, hypothetically so that Pippa could watch how they manipulated the Fade to stand as a shield. Cullen cast a sideways glance at her, and yes, she did at least appear to be paying attention to her teachers, her eyes slightly unfocused, as if concentrating on something he couldn‘t see.

Evangeline cleared her own throat and leaned backward slightly from where she was watching Rhys spar. He suspected the knight worried more about her lover than any Templar ever about a mage. She wasn’t nervous, she was too composed to be described in such a manner, but she was extremely protective. “I assure you, Ser Cullen, that there is definitely a ’good way’ to be shocked, as Master Cerastes puts it.” Cullen pivoted to look at her, surprised at the normally quiet woman’s vehemence and accompanying blush. “Trust me in this, if nothing else, Ser.” The bout in the training ring wasn’t drawing Pippa’s attention any longer, and she was openly watching the other adults, and eavesdropping on their conversation. Cullen sighed, knowing it was pointless to ask them to curtail their discussion due to small ears. Any request of that sort would only egg Hawke on. The woman was incorrigible.

Hawke grinned like a shark at the warrior‘s confession. Because of course she had overheard. “I knew Templars were kinky bastards. Every one likes a little thrill, don‘t they? Ser Cullen, for your edification, allow me to demonstrate.” She strolled towards her husband, hips swinging, a panther stalking its prey. “A mage learns to control all the elements, preferably. We may show a preference, one or two that come slightly easier than others, but… a little ice in the right spot,” she traced a suddenly cold finger down the back of her husband’s neck, and he cleared his throat, shifting his shoulders against the not-unwelcome intrusion of her touch, if his growing smile was any indication. “A little heat to warm a muscle,” she cupped his backside and he shifted forward.

“Hawke,” he warned, trying to concentrate on the target, but breathing harder. “You aren’t helping. You don‘t need to use me as… a teaching tool. I‘m sure your classes would be too advanced for your audience, in any case.” He peered over his shoulder, a stern look that was trying to disguise twinkling eyes.

“You love it,” Hawke smirked smugly, triumphant, cocking an eye at his already tight trousers. “Besides these, a carefully placed minor shock - no more than static electricity - to a tender area…” she reached out a single finger towards the waistband of her husband’s pants, where his hips and a single line of hair dipped down to disappear into dark leather.

“Don’t do it,” threatened her Prince, sidling sideways to avoid her hand, crossing his feet as if he was strafing on a battlefield. “Not here, not now. I‘ll…” he lowered his bow to menace her with an eyebrow.

“Ooh, the angry eyebrow,” Hawke grinned. “Whatever will you do with your bad, bad mage, Prince Vael?” She leaned forward, her tunic gaping just enough that Cullen had to politely avert his eyes from the cleavage not meant for him to see. Holy Maker, he could hear his daughter giggling madly now. They should have never brought her to Starkhaven. “She doesn’t know how to be appropriate, you know. Horrible public manners. Should you give her an etiquette lesson?” Vael gritted his teeth to hide his full smile of amusement.

“Later,” he managed through pulled lips and clenched jaws, and released the arrow without a glance in the target’s direction, his eyebrow never dropping. For some reason, this made Hawke swallow, and flush slightly. Cullen was fairly certain he didn’t want to know.

Evangeline unexpectedly laughed at the couple then, a ringing sound of merriment that pulled her lover’s attention from his opponent. Petri wisely took advantage and swooped his staff overhand to clout him in the head, Rhys’ barrier slipping away with the impact. Cullen startled as well - he would never have expected the warrior to have a such a compelling laugh. He felt his own chuckle start as well - Evangeline’s laughter was contagious.

“SHIT!” Rhys cursed. “Stop distracting me, Evangeline! I’m losing here, and its all your fault! You‘re making me look bad in front of my student!” His mouth was pulled up in a bow, though, and the student in question was nearly rolling in laughter at the farce that had become her teachers‘ attempt to demonstrate something useful.

“What, because I’m laughing?” Evangeline’s infectious laugh wasn’t tapering off quickly. “You should concentrate more.” She looked up at the sky in an attempt to re-center herself, embarrassed by her own amusement at the suggestive talk. “Try knitting, perhaps? I understand it works beautifully, and you end up with new socks, besides. Has to beat watching a candle burn down while reciting Transfigurations, isn‘t that so, Ser Cullen? Besides, I can feel you have plenty of mana left - pull yourself together, cast another barrier, and block with it! If Master Cerastes was your enemy, you‘d be dead!” Rhys glared at her briefly, his beard twitching around his lips, and then regained control, and pressed his advantage against his opponent, clearing favoring his left leg.

Cullen chuckled again, and gave up on his own training to watch the mages finish their bout, Rhys easily making a comeback, and Petri yielding gracefully. Petri, by his eye, should have won, having the advantage of youth and better fitness, but… he didn’t. He really wasn’t a fighter, Cullen concluded. His heart just wasn’t in it.

Very like his wife. He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking of Asta. Had she… was she… did she… know about anything like what the others were still talking about, he wondered, as Hawke arced lightening between her fingers, deliberately, and Sebastian watched her show off, unable to hide the desire in his tight lips and darkened eyes. Obviously, he enjoyed… that.

Cullen’s brow furrowed. He would have to ask. Cursing mentally, he picked up his practice sword again and tried to center himself. He wasn’t getting nearly enough exercise these days.

***

That evening, Cullen still couldn’t get the morning’s discussion out of his head, wrestling with his own renewed lack of confidence in the bedroom even while he admitted, at least to himself, his fascination with the topic. “Asta,” he began cautiously, hoping to segue into what he really wanted to talk about, “Are we… boring?”

Asta looked up from her book on the Somniari, confused, trying to shift from reading about ancient magical history to her husband‘s current underwhelming question. “What? Boring how? Cullen, in the past four years we‘ve defeated Corypheus, saved all of Thedas from collapsing into itself, escaped from the Archon while leaving Minrathous literally in flames, and…” she stopped. “That isn’t what you meant, is it? What did you mean, precisely?”

Precisely. As if that request didn‘t make it all the worse. “Do we have boring… sex?” Cullen pressed, already blushing, and speaking faster in his embarrassment. “I was witness to an odd discussion today, involving several mages and their… partners, and…”

“Cullen,” Asta set her book down gently, marking her place with a ribbon. “Was there something you wanted to try?”

“I don’t think we can…” Cullen started, and then paused. “Well, perhaps we could, with a little ingenuity…” he corrected himself. “Ice wouldn’t be that difficult, at least in winter… at Skyhold we‘d just have to step outside. Heat would be more difficult, I‘m sure, but perhaps candlewax, or something like it… beeswax, perhaps wouldn‘t cause blisters, with indirect heat versus direct flame… perhaps we could melt it in hot water? I‘d be too embarrassed to ask Dagna to make a set of runes for this purpose, but that possibly would work as well…”

Asta blinked rapidly, more than a little shocked at the line his thoughts were traveling in. “I would ask if you had been talking to Dorian, but I know he’s hundreds of miles away and that I’ve had the speaking crystal all day. Cullen, what brought this on?”

“Prince Vael likes to be shocked, and… heated up… and…” Cullen blurted out awkwardly, the whole story spilling from his lips. “And Ser Evangeline says that I don‘t know what I‘m missing…” Both of Asta’s eyebrows raised to the ceiling at the mention of the rather reserved former Knight-Captain. “Hawke _demonstrated_ right there in front of the training dummies and archery targets… it was obvious that her husband…” Cullen blushed. “I wasn’t looking, but I noticed…” He closed his mouth, wishing he had said nothing at all. “Nevermind…” This is ridiculous, he wanted to add. They had all been messing with him. Even the stoic Ser Evangeline was in on the joke. Surely.

“You mean Dorian wasn’t joking?” She offered at last, when Cullen’s words had trailed into the Void. “Bull was effusive, but I thought they were making fun of me…” she admitted. “Dorian apparently draws fire glyphs directly onto Bull’s skin, in that case. I was sure they were having fun at my expense.”

“You didn’t know either?” Cullen relaxed, relieved that she wasn‘t disappointed in his performance or creativity, and wasn’t judging him for his curiosity, either.

“Well, I had read about it, but I didn’t realize that it could _work_ , exactly… what I was reading was fiction, not a how-to manual,” Asta temporized. “And Dorian and Bull love to tease me. I never know what’s real, and what they are making up. If I were to believe them, Dorian and Bull use ropes, and chains, and pulleys and hooks and gags, and all sorts of things that don’t sound very attractive at all. Bull wished out loud that Skyhold had a rack, once. I get beat up enough on the battlefield, or I used to. I don’t need - or want - you to whip me like Bull seems to adore.” She paused. “Though Dorian told me about this experience with silk ribbons that… didn’t sound so bad. Just… wrists. Not for you, of course. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. For… me,” she admitted with some embarrassment of her own. “But I wouldn’t know anything about the sort of knots that those two use. Bull insists it‘s all… very safe, rules fencing them both in.” Her face was bright pink, as if she had been out in the sun too long, freckles standing out stark against the normally tanned background.

Cullen cleared his throat, and leaned in, as if imparting some great secret of the ages. “This didn’t sound nearly so… dangerous. Apparently, a little heat, or a static shock, or a little cold to… certain areas is… diverting. That‘s all.” Given what Asta had just confessed, his own recent fascination with the sexual use of magical elements seemed much more benign.

“Oh,” Asta bit her lips, unsure whether to be amused or eager. “That could be… interesting. Maybe not the shock, but…”

“Oh,” Cullen echoed, blushing a deep red, despite everything. “Did you want to…”

“Did you?” Asta smiled wide, eyes shining. “I feel about as sexy as a Druffalo, but…”

“You’re infinitely more attractive than a Druffalo, especially now,” Cullen laughed low. “If I say yes…”

Asta reached out and trailed her fingers through his hair. “I’ll try anything with you. We could request some chilled wine on ice right now.” Cullen looked sideways, to the door that adjoined with their daughter’s room. “She’s asleep, and it locks,” she murmured. “We’re going to have to start being quiet sometime, right?”

“What wouldn’t I give to be somewhere that was… ours,” Cullen murmured longingly, and then kissed her deeply. “I’ll go to the kitchen and ask for some chilled wine in a bucket. You… stay there?” he flushed again in anticipation, already half hard.

“Sure you can manage to ask for chilled wine without blushing at this time of night?” Asta whispered mischievously. “I love making you blush, Ser Knight. Save some for when you get back?”

“Maker’s Breath… just… don’t move from that spot,” he laughed quietly again, trying not to let his chest heave. “Or… lock the door, perhaps. I’ll be right back.”

With his departure, Asta flung the blankets aside and wriggled to the edge of the bed. She had been so tired at the beginning of her pregnancy, and now that they had Pippa, more often than not the little girl was right there wherever they ended up sleeping at night. It was more than enough to cramp her already nervous husband’s style, and her own, so they were never willing to take it beyond kisses, or ramp anything up to a point where either would be unable to sleep for hours without release. She checked on Pippa - sleeping soundly with a grin on her face - and wondered if all Somniari were such good sleepers.

She shut the door and flicked the latch without a second thought. Maker, it had been way too long since the last time they managed… she caught her reflection in the mirror, horrified at her appearance. “Ugh, I look like my mother,” she muttered, turning sideways, and decided she might look better with the nightgown off, not on. She hated them anyway - she only slept in clothing now that Pippa was right there, and inclined to wander in to tell them what she had dreamed about the night before, long before either of them were willing to wake up and cover themselves.

Her daughter didn’t care, but she certainly did. Apparently the Chantry had managed to instill something that stuck, after all. The irony.

She’d replace it after, she decided, and stripped the offending gown off over her head, and checked herself out in the mirror again, sans clothing. Her arms and legs were still toned, and even tanned slightly, after Rivain‘s hot weather, despite all the rain that seemed normal for Starkhaven. Her breasts were even heavier - luckily Cullen didn’t seem to mind that - and if her belly was large…

“Well, at least that serves a purpose?” Asta murmured to her son, appreciating that she always had someone to talk to at the moment, and looked over her shoulder. From behind, she barely looked pregnant, except that her ass seemed even larger than ever. Unfortunately, she was not willing to greet her husband on all fours, despite whatever he was bringing back and for what purpose. That particular position made her left forearm and elbow ache, no matter how many pushups she did to strengthen the shoulder. Instead, she arranged herself sideways on the bed, prosthesis propped beneath her so that her weight was supported on her upper arm, not the joint.

Cullen slid back into their room almost guiltily, the blush from the housekeeper’s teasing still covering his ears and neck and unable to look her in the eye. “According to the nosy housekeeper on duty, I’m supposed to tell you that wine isn’t healthy for pregnant women,” he started dutifully, turning the lock in their own door, ice bucket in the other hand.

“Well, the wine was hardly the point of the trip,” Asta giggled.

“I could hardly tell her that,” Cullen sighed. “So they gave us cider with the ice, instead. Apparently Hawke is… fond of it.” He loosened his own shirt, and yanked it over his head, one handed, and draped it over a chair. He turned to see her, and swallowed. In his eyes, she was all woman, curves and more curves, one sensuous knot of beauty with freckles and a faint blush, and hair still tousled from the discarded nightgown and eyes hooded with dark lashes. “Maker’s Breath,” he murmured, unable to keep the oath from his lips, or the surge of blood to certain extremes. “How do you manage it?”

“Manage what?” Asta was slightly irritated. She wasn’t _that_ large.

“Manage to look even more lovely, every time I look at you,” Cullen whispered reverently.

“Keep saying things like that and I’ll start to believe you,” Asta giggled again and flushed deeper herself. “You’re looking at me like you’ve never seen me naked before.” His eyes were warm, and heating her up more than any magic ever could. She let her eyes drift down to his firm stomach, following the line of his waist, cradling what could only be a very large erection.

Cullen started for the bed with single mindedness, only realizing once he was there that he had yet to put the ice bucket, with two bottles of cider chilling within, down. He plonked it down on Asta’s table, on top of her book. “Hey!” She protested, and he corrected himself, removing the book and placing it gently on the floor with a muttered apology - both to his wife and the offended tome. Asta sat up and pulled at his laces.

“In a hurry, are we?”

“I’m merely assuming that in order to apply the ice to sensitive areas, we have to expose the sensitive areas first,” Asta protested, glancing up teasingly. “The logic is sound, Ser Knight.”

“You may be right,” Cullen smirked, and popped a chunk of ice in his mouth as he stepped out of his pants and smallclothes. “Now then… tactics…” He paced around their bed and climbed in behind her, and placed his much cooler than usual mouth over her shoulder, tracing it up to her neck, and to her ear lobe. “Just say if it’s too cold,” he murmured into her ear, the ice impeding his diction only slightly as it melted.

“It’s not,” Asta leaned back against his hands, one reaching up to cup her breast. “Could be colder perhaps…” He worked his hand against her nipple, encouraging it to pebble between her fingers. He arranged the ice to peek out between his lips and ran a line of melting water down the back of her neck, resulting in a squealing laugh as she bent away from the contact.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “You’ll wake Pippa.”

“I’m beginning to see the point of the gags after all,” Asta teased, trying not to laugh too hard. “When do I get to try this on you?” Cullen turned her cheek and kissed her, pulling her tongue out to meet his - the ice already almost gone, failing to answer her pointed question.

“Maybe I will, if you can’t keep quiet,” he chuckled against her lips. “I don’t… want to waste this opportunity.”

“Neither do I,” Asta breathed, eyes shut. “I wouldn’t mind, honestly. Whatever you want.”

His eyes flashed with sudden want, and then he shook off the resulting confusion. “Maybe some other time,“ he managed haltingly. To disguise his unease, he reached over her and fished out another piece, “T’would be a shame to waste the sounds you make. However practical a gag would be.”

Cullen leaned her back against the pillow roll and brought his cold mouth in contact with her all too warm nipple. Asta arched abruptly and clutched the back of his head. “Too much?” He mumbled the words, struggling to form them around the ice.

“No…” she shivered agreeably, and he bent back to work, only lifting his head to pull out another sliver, and work it around the neglected nipple with his fingers. Asta hissed, trying to stifle herself.

Cullen brought his hand up to cup her and pull more of her in, teasing her with his now very cold tongue, meeting her eyes as she panted beneath him. The ice had melted again, and he swallowed, her breast still mostly in his mouth, pulling against her. Her womb clenched abruptly and she keened, altogether too loudly. “Sweet Andraste,” he released and leaned his head against the top of her round stomach, hair now tousled with her grip, “what you do to me, Asta.” His erection pressed against his own leg and he breathed shallowly, trying to get a grip on himself and his reaction to the sound.

“Cullen…” she smoothed his hair, breathing heavily. “Are you all right?”

He brought his head back up, a dare in his eyes. “Yes,” he answered with a knowing smirk. “Never better.” He reached over and grabbed another chunk of ice, and put it between his teeth, leaning over and drawing lazy, melting wet lines over the curves of her stomach, rivulets running down to soak the sheets between them. Next time, he would remember to grab a towel to soak up some of the wet. Too late now… He traced lower and lower, teasing the top of the curls between her thighs, and then lifted one, placed it over his shoulder, and touched the bit of ice to his destination.

“Fuck,” was the single charged word in his wife‘s choked voice. He managed to tsk at her language, but she kept up a muttered litany of filthy words mixed with praise as he flattened the ice between her and his tongue and stroked, struggling to keep it where he wanted it to be. The ice melted even quicker here, and he lifted his head again.

“Grab the bucket, and keep them coming,” he ordered, all Commander in this moment. Asta fumbled with her hand, but managed to deliver, sliding a large piece between his lips, accompanied by two of her fingers. He sucked them free of drips, slowly, and she shivered again.

“Void take you, Cullen Rutherford,” she whispered, eyes dilated to nearly black. “I can’t…”

“You will,” he promised with another twist of his lips. “Unless you want me to stop?” He poked the ice out again, and she was silent. “Good,” he managed the words simultaneously crisp and garbled. “Grab hair.” She reached her hand around and threaded her fingers through it and tugged slightly. He moaned a little, just a little, and pressed himself against the mattress, shaking ever so slightly.

It was melting again, and so was she, and so he pushed himself back to wrap his tongue around her clit desperately, making her rock herself and his head closer. He could no longer see her eyes over her stomach, he realized. She couldn’t see what he was doing to her any longer.

It made him brave, and upon popping his head back up for another piece of ice - this one much larger even than the last- he wrapped his tongue around it and pushed it into her cunt, just slightly. His wife rocked up with a startled, wordless cry and he worked it back and forth, letting his nose rest against her nerves while she squirmed and nearly pulled out his hair. The ice was gone again, but he really didn’t want to stop, as she babbled nonsense above him - what language was she speaking? He latched himself on to her nerves and placed his fingers - nearly hot, given the chill he had left behind - inside her and curved, pressing all his demands into her flesh.

Her entire belly rippled, almost alarmingly, and the noise she made was nearly a shout. He hated to shush her… but she was already pulling away, and pressing him onto his back with a very determined look. He smiled at her. “Better?”

“I’ll show you how much better,” she straddled him, slick and chilly, and pulled him up, meeting his lips with difficulty - large enough now to make the reach awkward. She drew back. “Ice,” she ordered, and amused, he provided a piece. She worked it in her mouth for a moment, calculating eyes mapping his body before she shifted back from his legs.

Cullen closed his eyes, but she didn’t wrap her lips around him like he was expecting. Instead she was tracing the lines of his stomach muscles down to his cock, and mouthing his… he caught his breath in an abrupt gasp as she sucked in a single testicle, his scrotum shrinking immediately in the sudden frosty feeling, like jumping in the pond outside Honnleath in spring. She broke away, and he could feel her nearly silent laughter shaking her breasts against his leg. “Asta,” he murmured. He heard the bucket shift with her body and her giggle as she used her fingers - icy, now - to trace the head of his erection teasingly.

Only then did she sink down on him and he couldn’t help but curse. “Holy Andraste have mercy…”

“Oh, it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before,” Asta slid off him. “I bet she did this too, probably while singing the whole time.” Cullen opened his eyes to pin her with a slightly critical look, amusement glittering in the depths. “Parts of the Chant could be interpreted to be a love poem, after all. Highly erotic imagery. Haven‘t we already established that, love?”

“Kiss me,” he whispered, nearly a plea, his tone of command long gone.

“Nope, I’m nowhere near finished.” Asta fished in the bucket, and he pushed himself up to take a breast in his mouth again, angling to reach her, touch her, somehow. Her skin was still cool, but his mouth had warmed back up as he worked it, desperate to come into contact with her skin. She held the ice in her hand, humming at his work, letting the water drip into his hair, which promptly abandoned all pretense of order and rioted merrily over his forehead. Using her prosthesis she tousled it slightly.

“Asta,” he threatened, releasing her breast reluctantly, and cupping her ass, arching up towards her.

“Cullen,” she countered mockingly. “You’ll just have to wait.” She maneuvered herself further down, pulling herself out of the grasp of his hands and drew a single line down the planes of his chest to his abdomen. He shivered in response, fighting to keep himself from pushing away the ice from his ever more sensitive skin, and fisting his hands in the damp sheets, his body unable to decide whether to sweat or develop goosebumps. She trailed the ice lower, up and over and around his cock and he moaned, just slightly.

“I like this,” she admitted, eyes dark.

“So do I,” he panted. “Asta…” She moved underneath him, tracing his sac with the sliver of ice, pulled up impossibly tight now, almost painfully. “Asta!”

“Shh, you’ll wake Pippa,” she teased cruelly. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” His vehemence surprised even himself. “I mean…”

“It’s all right,” she soothed, and went beneath to trace his perineum and back up. “Say if its too much…”

“Shit,” he panted. “Please…” the ice disappeared into drips and she climbed over him to finally kiss him into silence.

Words dissolved as well. Warmth trumped all chill except for the clammy sheets as they wound themselves slowly around, trying to find a position that would work, Asta finally tipping sideways so that he could slip in behind her and suckle a mark into her shoulder while he moved gently in and out of her, tracing his fiery hands over her lower belly and between her legs until she clamped around him, her muscles pulsing seismically in an erratic rhythm as she lost her control over her voice and body once more.

It took him just a few more minutes, as she shuddered, pressing back against him desperately, until he finished as well, liquefied and pooled like the wax from a Chantry candle, poured out and empty like a pitcher, completely sated.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Asta finally spoke. “The sheets are wet.”

“Yes,” he admitted, not caring. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“Not really,” his beautiful wife admitted, curling her backside further into him. He shifted his arm over her stomach to hold her closer a little longer. “You?”

“Absolutely perfect,” he sighed, blissful. “Can we… may I… do that again?”

“Of course,” she laughed, eyes closed. “Just… not tonight. You wear me out when you‘re creative, Cullen.”

“We’re evenly matched, then,” he murmured, chuckling in turn.

“Might have to talk to Dagna about those runes after all,” Asta murmured, just before she fell asleep between breaths, and completely forgetting the discarded nightgown.

“You can do it,” he countered. “I don’t dare try to explain myself.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, iduna! It's all your fault. Though it's been a headcanon of mine for a while that most of Thedas thinks that the use of magic during sex is an urban myth, the partners of those mages know better. Thus Isabela's pleasure with Anders' 'lightening trick' in DA2, and a mage Hawke romancing Fenris I believe casts a barrier to help with his lyrium sensitivity. I think even the Randy Dowager backs me up on this - given what she says about closed doors in the Circle. ;)
> 
> I should reiterate that I love prompts. Adore them. If you have them, bring them on.


	41. Limited Understanding

Cullen roused himself first, to the sound of pounding the next morning. He took in his wife’s state of undress, and then his own, and mentally cursed, but hauled himself out of bed after tossing a sheet over a still sleeping Asta. He pulled on his pants, and opened the door between their room to reveal an extremely grumpy Pippa.

“Pippa, your Mum is sleeping,” he started, shushing her.

“Oh,” the little girl looked abashed. “I didn’t realize… I thought…” her foot twisted against the floor. It must be rather late, Cullen realized, looking out the window for the position of the sun rather belatedly. Pippa was dressed, and obviously had been for a while. “I’m sorry I woke you up…”

“It‘s all right,” Cullen sighed. “Just let me grab a shirt and we’ll let your Mum sleep?”

“’M awake,” a grumpy voice called from the bed. “Give me a moment, though, baby?”

“I’ll ring for coffee,” Cullen sighed.

“Tea,” the voice ordered. “Milk. Sugar.”

“I know how you take your tea, love,” Cullen chuckled, and ran his hands through his hair, even more wild than usual in the morning. Pippa was staring at the halo of his locks in awe, he realized, and he dropped his hand, and pushed through the threshold, closing the door on his wife, bare under the flimsy sheets. She had forgotten her nightgown. He couldn’t say he minded. “Did you need something?” He asked his daughter, a little warily. He was rarely at his best in the morning.

She grinned, cheekily, a single dimple showing in her round cheek. “Just company. I’m bored. Rhys is going to meet with the College this morning, and Petri wants to write some letters.” Her smile grew wider. “They’re all scrambling to figure out what to do with me. Petri insists if I have this kind of focus, my knitting should be better, and I should be able to draw on the Fade already.”

Cullen frowned. “We need to find you some friends. Then your free time can be spent with people closer to your own age.”

“Friends,” Pippa sighed. “Right. You make it sound so easy.”

Asta had pulled herself together quickly, and opened the door, leaving it open this time, still pulling on her jacket, floppy on her left arm. “Cullen, you let me fall asleep in my prosthesis,” she scolded. “I’ll have to leave it off this morning, to let the skin breathe. And I didn‘t bring any of the clothes that allow for that. Help me pin up my sleeve?”

“Good morning,” he pulled her in for a kiss, a simple peck that he couldn‘t resist, despite the spectator.

“Morning,” she blushed, looking at Pippa.

“You realize I’ve seen people kiss before, right?” Pippa smirked. “You two act like it’s not normal, or something.”

“Pippa, you need friends,” Cullen deflected with his own slight blush.

Asta frowned at Cullen, “Pippa’s right. You make it sound so easy.”

“Children need other children,” Cullen was confused, but sure of this, as in few other things.

“Sure they do, but children are cruel, heartless beings,” Asta argued, and Pippa nodded in sullen agreement. “It’s hardly as simple as ‘Lets go meet people! We’ll become close companions in two minutes!’” She paused, “I think its easier for adults. Sometimes. Sera took work, but I suspect we‘re friendly now. It’s hard to tell with her. She adores you, Cullen. That helped.”

“Can’t I just wait for my brother?” Pippa nearly whined.

“It’ll be years before he’s any fun,” Cullen assured her. “He’ll be a sleepy and hungry lump for the first year, at least, and then he’ll be an annoying mobile menace. Then he’ll get into your things, and start blaming you for everything…” his words trailed off when he realized he was projecting his own siblings’ behavior onto his own unborn son. “You’re nearly 8. You should have friends your own age. Not just spirits,” he cut off her next argument at the pass. “We’re going to walk into the city today, and see about having you attend some classes with the other mage children. Most of them will need friends as well.”

“They’ll think I’m stupid, because I can’t cast anything,” grumbled Pippa.

“So brag,” Asta advised unwisely. “You’re a Somniari.”

Cullen stifled his groan, in favor of tact.  “That won’t help,” Cullen criticized. She was, indeed, isolated. Far more than even other children with her talents. “This is a problem, isn’t it?” he admitted.

“Quite,” Asta agreed, dryly.

“We’re still going to try,” Cullen determined.

Pippa got the far away look in her eyes again. “I don’t want to, but my friends say it’s important.” She pouted. “You’re all ganging up on me.”

“I won’t leave until you want me to,” Cullen attempted to reassure her.

Pippa rolled her eyes. “Oh, like having an ex-Templar Da is going to make me instant friends. ‘Hello, other mage children, this is my daughter. She’s a Dreamer - capable of great things, though not at the moment. Don‘t mind me, I‘ll just be over here. Watching. Don’t make any sudden movements, and don‘t you dare play with fire or I‘ll smite you all.’”

“It won’t be like that,” Cullen protested with a slight blush. Asta choked back her giggle.

“Right,” Pippa deadpanned.

“I’m supposed to meet with Vivienne this afternoon,” Asta realized all at once, her stomach sinking. “Pippa, I’m afraid I can’t go with you…” Strangely, the child brightened.

“That’s better, actually,” she smiled shyly. “It’s bad enough, who Da is. But being your daughter…” she snorted, “’Oh, your Mum’s the Inquisitor? Why don’t you look like her? Why’d she cut off her hand, then? My Gran says she doesn’t believe in Andraste, and that she flouts the Maker‘s will. Do you believe in Andraste?’”

“I see,” Asta managed, exchanging an embarrassed look with Cullen. “We really do make it hard for you, don’t we?”

“I can’t even talk to the servants’ kids,” Pippa sighed. “They think I put on airs.” Her eyelids drooped sadly until she was staring at the floor. “I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to beg you not to make me go?”

“It’s a shame Kieran and Morrigan moved on from Skyhold,” Cullen regretted. “He was older than you, but…” he stopped himself. Two precocious mage children were probably more than Skyhold could handle anyway. “We have to try to make friends, all the same. Nothing good comes easily. And wouldn‘t you like to have friends that aren‘t scared of you, Pippa?”

“Oh, stuff it,” Pippa contradicted. “Everyone is scared of me, Da. I’ll go with you. But bring a book, or something, so that they don‘t feel like you‘re watching. My friends say that might help.  A bit.”

***

As expected, Vivienne’s entrance into Asta’s room was barely announced. “Knight-Enchanter Vivienne, Right Hand to the Divine…” the page announced before the mage sidestepped him.

“Come now, we’re old friends,” the mage posed regally. “Are we not, Inquisitor?”

Asta’s professional mask was already in place. “Of course,” she rose and air-kissed the other woman’s  smooth cheeks. “How have you been, Vivienne?”

“Well enough,” the mage sighed in convincing fatigue. “Traveling constantly, naturally. I hardly know where I am when I wake up these days.”

“That can be trying,” Asta agreed, managing to keep the tone of derision out of her voice. She waved her to a seat, facing her and Josie, who, as usual, was hiding her tension over the charged meeting with tact and decorum. “I hope the weather in Starkhaven hasn’t troubled you overmuch?”

Vivienne’s laugh tinkled slightly. “Oh, a little rain is hardly going to stop me, my dear.” Her eyes narrowed. “Even if that rain comes from the northeast.”

Asta sighed, exchanging a look with Josie, who shook her head. She would have to conduct herself by the rules of the Game, after all, then. "I found the weather in Rivain refreshing, myself,” she smiled, and offered the other woman a cup of tea. “The heat made me feel like I was warm down to my bones. After Orlais and Ferelden, you have to admit that a dry heat is quite welcome. Val Royeaux is so… oppressive.”

“And most of Ferelden is foggy swamp,” Vivienne agreed, sighing, as she set down her cup after inhaling the aroma of the steam. “My dear, your niece…”

“Oh, are we done talking in weather metaphors?” Asta quirked an eyebrow at the older woman. “I could keep going, you know. I can wax on for hours about Ferelden being ignorant, and Orlais being mired in tradition to the point of painful enforcement.”

“I assure you, her Holiness has taken… many steps in a different direction,” Vivienne corrected, misleadingly gentle. Asta knew that tone. That tone of Vivienne’s voice meant trouble. “The Chantry is being gradually led along other paths. Which conveniently brings me back to your niece.”

“My _daughter_ has nothing to do with the Chantry,” Asta said with a cheerful smile and a sip of tea.

Vivienne pressed on. “The College mages whisper that she is a known Somniari. Even you,” and her tone presumed her ignorance on magical matters, “must realize what a danger that is. A mage who can manipulate the Fade itself, who is simultaneously a beacon and pained by demons…”

“You know, that’s the odd thing,” Asta spoke slowly, puzzled. “Apparently, all mages can manipulate the Fade. Rhys has explained that he can manifest objects there, and Solas indicated that I could, as well, while we were there physically.” If Vivienne flinched, it was very slight. “From my readings, and talking with the College, apparently the difference between Dreamers and a ‘normal’ mage, is some sort of… spectrum of control?”

Vivienne sighed again, condescendingly, “In the most simple terms, I suppose. I wouldn‘t expect you to understand, my dear.”

“Forgive me, this knowledge does not come naturally to me,” Asta reminded her, dangerously quiet.

The mage was silent for a moment, “I should, perhaps, allow that you are trying to educate yourself.” She deigned to raise her teacup and take a sip of her black tea.

“I would appreciate that, yes.” Asta set her cup down, the glossy porcelain barely making any sound against the saucer, and traced the Silverite rim with a gentle finger.

“But you must admit that leaving such… a prodigy, if you would prefer…” A sudden cool breeze pushed back the curtains, blowing a slight gust of rain into the room. Josie rose, and closed the recalcitrant window immediately.

“I do, slightly,” Asta quirked a small smile.

“…In the hands of bumbling fools…”

“Neither Enchanter Rhys or Master Cerastes are fools,” Asta corrected, her smile turning sharp. Josie sat again, elegantly taking her seat next to Asta and raising her cup to rest in her lap.

“Neither has experience with this sort of talent,” the mage’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Neither do you,” Asta mentioned, as if in passing.

“On the contrary, my dear, several Somniari passed through my Circle.”

“’Passed through?’” Asta quoted. “On their way to becoming Tranquil? Did they last a week before the Templars and their beneficent First Enchanter deemed them too dangerous to be allowed to continue their connection to the Fade?”

“A… necessary precaution, in their cases,” Vivienne’s lips were definitely pressed together. “None of them proved… stable. I regretted the step, naturally…”

“Stable,” Asta’s voice was flat. “Madame, I know of few people who get through their adolescent years in any way that could be described as ‘stable’.”

“Magic is dangerous, darling,” Vivienne began.

“Yes, and those who forget that are liable to be burned,” Asta’s mask was still impeccable as she threw the mage‘s words back at her. “My husband has informed me what invariably happens to Somniari outside of the Imperium. I doubt that any Dreamer entering a Circle was allowed to forget the brand that awaited them the first time they made a mistake.” Her words were harsh, but her tone still light and friendly. “Is that supposed to contribute to a ‘stable’ upbringing?”

Vivienne’s hand tightened on the arm of her chair, even as her posture remained open and relaxed. “Regretfully, yes. The Tranquil serve as… potent reminders to us all. Until this point. Your niece has an unforeseen opportunity…”

“Are you offering your services?” Josie cut in, sharp and abrupt, much to both women’s surprise. She hadn’t even offered as much as a cough up until this point. Asta had only a moment to appreciate the oddity of the Ambassador’s behavior.

“Pardon me, my dear?” Vivienne was startled into honest surprise.

“Are you offering your services, as tutor to the Inquisitor’s daughter?” Josie poised her quill over her parchment and smiled, bright as the sun. “It’s very flattering, Madame, that you would take a personal interest in your former companion’s progeny, but I’m afraid the position is already filled.”

“Well, that would certainly be one solution,” Vivienne attempted to recover, “But my current position hardly allows me time to take an apprentice… I intended to recommend that the Inquisitor allow me to escort her niece back to Val Royeaux, to the White Spire, where loyal Circle mages can investigate her talents and teach her at a level that befits both her social status and her gifts…”

“It is an honor, but we must decline,” Josie broke in again, all politeness. “I assure you, Mistress Philippa is being taught quite well. Her education is extremely well-rounded, vetted by several independent professionals and former Circle Enchanters. A thorough investigation is underway as to the best way to improve her magical talents, I assure you - her tutors are quite well-connected all over Thedas. I believe that she will do quite well, where she is.” Josie turned in her seat slightly, “Don’t you agree, Inquisitor?” Asta struggled to shake off her shock in order to reply.

Vivienne didn’t miss a beat. “I see,” she rose, imperially. “In that case, my dears, I will take my leave.”

“So soon?” Josie’s smile was all regret. “I was hoping we could catch up a bit. I do miss Val Royeaux - were you able to attend the Wintersend Ball?”

“I will have to fill you in later, Ambassador,” Vivienne sighed, her mask back in place now. “I have other duties to attend to this morning, and little time for idle chit-chat, much to my regret.”

Asta rose as well, and air-kissed the Right Hand, just as sincerely as when she had entered. The gesture was echoed, serenely. “It was good to see you, Vivienne,” she assured her. “I hope we will meet again soon?”

“I wouldn’t dream of staying away,” the woman replied, and took her leave, brushing past the page as if she didn’t see him.

“Josie.” Asta gave her an intense look as the door shut firmly. “What were you thinking?”

“She’s scrambling,” Josie defended her actions. “She’s completely undermined with the continued success of the Starkhaven branch of the College. She needs a Dreamer, a successful stable one, to emerge within the old Circle system to shore up her politics and prove that the old way is best, Asta. I… I am reluctant to have Pippa become such an experiment. Especially since the old Circles have proven to be a failure. Your daughter deserves better.”

“Oh, Josie,” Asta sighed, and then tensed. “How many of the Tranquil brands have the Seekers managed to find?”

“Oh…” Josie paled. “I don’t believe… I will find out immediately, Inquisitor. I will… make it a priority, in fact.” She gathered her writing desk to her chest.  "I’ll write to Cassandra, and to Rylen...”

Asta placed her hand on Josie’s shoulder. “Josie… you're a gift and a miracle.” The woman blushed. “To know that Pippa has a champion in you…” Asta laughed suddenly. “She has absolutely nothing to fear, with you at her back. And neither do I.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Inquisitor,” Josie backed away slightly and fled through the door. “Excuse me, I have letters to write.”

 


	42. Disclosures

“Is there anything I should know?” Asta caught Cullen reading a letter - the latest of many, the ravens flying thick and fast almost quickly enough to constitute a conspiracy - with a frown on his face that indicated foul news.

“Anything you should know? About?” Cullen glanced at the letter and then hid it behind his back. “No! Not at all!”

“Really?” The letter wasn’t from Mia - he wasn’t about to lose his temper in that particular manner. Other than the displeased look on his face, he looked rather… amused. “Cullen, what are you hiding? Who are all the letters from?” Asta folded her arms above her stomach and thrust out her hip, and waited.

“Branson, mostly,” Cullen confessed, bringing the pages out from behind his back. “ They… wouldn’t interest you, love. Truly. He whines too much about Grace while she’s pregnant… as if he wasn‘t half responsible for her condition. There’s a lot about Mia bossing everyone around… nothing urgent…” his words trailed off randomly, as he evidently searched for something in the letter that he could share.

He was lying. Cullen never lied, even through omission. “If you don’t want me to read them, I won’t,” Asta smirked. “Keep your secrets with your brother, love.” He would tell her when he was ready. She made to leave the room, grabbing the cloak she came back for as she went into the city to collect Pippa from her magic class.

“I’m not keeping secrets!” He protested at her retreating back.

“You’re a horrible liar, Cullen!” Asta called behind her. “Oh, and Josie says that we should be ready to leave in less than week.” She winked, “So whatever you’re hiding, you’ll want to let Branson know we won’t be in Starkhaven for much longer. Wouldn‘t do to let all those letters get delayed.” His muffled cursing followed her giggles out the door.

***

Hawke had taken to staring at her husband with pressed lips whenever they were alone, her eyes shifting away deliberately when he looked back at her with confusion.

“I don’t suppose I could just convince you to talk about it already?” He sighed, slumping in his armchair and steepling his fingertips together while he watched his wife.

“Nothing to talk about,” Hawke stood at once, folding the latest issue of the Randy Dowager closed. It wasn’t that interesting anyway.

“Of course there isn’t,” he smiled. “Hawke…”

“It’s a non-issue, we’d - you’d - already decided, long before I…” Hawke braced herself against the wall, glaring out the glass in the window as if it was in her way.

“What had I decided?” Sebastian asked slowly, thinking he knew.

“Nothing,” Hawke thrust herself away from the wall and marched out of the room, swinging the door wide, so that it hit the wall. “I’m… I’m going to go start some fires. I’m… restless.”

Sebastian stared, eyebrows raised, and then followed, to the little square courtyard - completely fenced by stone to limit the possibility of a stray ember catching - where piles of hay and other combustibles had been placed for her convenience. He leaned up against one of the arches, and watched her throw fireballs with military precision, as she cursed under her breath about needing a drink.

“They’re leaving in a week, at most,” he volunteered.

“Who?” Hawke asked unnecessarily.

“You know who.” Her hands shook, and she called a massive flame into her hands to watch it burn, the flames licking at her hands and face without causing damage. “I’m sorry that their visit has been such a trial for you.”

“It’s been nothing of the sort,” she argued. “The Inquisitor is almost good company, Cullen isn’t as much of an uptight arse as he was back in the day, and if their Ambassador is a goody-two-shoes, she’s one that could eviscerate any Crow I’ve ever met with her sharp tongue. Their whole stay has been fine. I will miss…” she stopped, frowning.

“You will miss…” Sebastian prompted, trying not to smile.

“Nothing,” the stubborn woman summed up. “It’ll be good to have the palace to ourselves again. Tired of being bloody appropriate most of the time.”

And there was the crux. She had been remarkably well-behaved, and he knew why. If he hadn’t read her completely wrong. “You’re never appropriate,” he started.

“I know, and you’ll owe me, when they’re gone, for behaving all this time. I fucking…” her words broke off and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the ashes, soot and smoke she had created of her personal training ground.

Her behavior was slightly worrying. “Hawke, are… are you hearing voices?”

“No,” she denied, and then pinned him with a stare, eyes smoldering more than the fire in her hands. “But I do want something. It’s my desires, not any… thing else‘s.”

“You need only ask,” he offered easily, meaning it, and wondering if she would.

“I…” she swallowed, and he slowly approached her. She backed away, slowly, letting the fires dwindle until her back hit the cold stone wall. “I…”

Sebastian leaned in closer. “I’ll give you anything in my power as Prince,” he promised, perhaps unwisely, but not really caring much about being wise at all.

“This has nothing to do with you being Prince,” Hawke snapped at him, almost bitterly. He raised a single eyebrow to express interest. “But… it does complicate matters,” she sighed. “Sebastian, I…”

“Mistress Philippa is a nice child, isn’t she?” Sebastian prompted, still propped over her with a single hand. Hawke immediately frowned. “Polite, clever…”

“Sebastian…” Hawke’s words trailed off again.

“The Rutherfords are very fortunate to have found her,” he added airily.

Hawke shoved him slightly back. “You already know, you…”

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispered. “That the Champion of Kirkwall has changed her mind. That the world is different, that she wants…”

“I can’t,” Hawke snapped again. “I can’t…” She bowed her head forward until it hit his chest. “It’s not different. Not enough. You saw the Right Hand at the Chantry. And she’s been to visit the Inquisitor. She told me. Afterward. Asking me whether or not you and I would support her if she resisted the Circle’s removal of… They’re all still watching. Waiting for us all to slip up and level another city. This is just a… parole… and they’ll throw us all back into prison, or render us all Tranquil as soon as…”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he asserted himself, and lifted her chin. “Ser Cullen asked much the same of me. I gave my word. And the Ambassador approached me today, asking whether I can confirm that the Tranquility brands that were at the old Starkhaven Circle were destroyed in the fire.”

Hawke’s mouth pressed together. “Why would she…”

“Apparently, the Inquisitor wants them _all_ accounted for,” Sebastian observed, as if he hardly cared. “Every,” he kissed her ear, “Single,” he kissed her throat, “One.” She was still so afraid, despite everything he had tried to do to make her comfortable, safe, and welcome in his home. “I gave her the rights to have the remains of our Circle searched, and to do as she pleased with whatever she found.”

“Oh,” Hawke swallowed again, and he traced the line of her throat with his lips.

“Never,” he whispered, as if confessing his love to her again for the first time. “Not here. Not ever. I will defend you, and any law-abiding mage in my city with my own life.” He stroked a hand down her side to her hip. “I would argue that is what a Prince is supposed to do, wouldn’t you? Protect his citizens? As if I were their…”

“Don’t,” Hawke whispered.

“…Father,” Sebastian pressed her against him and his better half choked at the word, as if she was going to cry. Was it the memory of her own? “I know what you want, Hawke. It‘s all right.”

“It’s not that simple,” she debated hotly, with a flush on her cheeks and something resembling a whine in her throat that made him want to laugh. “It’s horrible and complicated, and a terrible fucking idea.”

“It’s as simple as asking,” Sebastian countered. “Unless you didn’t intend to ask? But that would be a terrible breach of etiquette.” He pulled away, putting a little distance between them, and she swayed forward in his wake, as if drawn by a magnet. “I made a visit to the nursery, did I tell you? It’s in horrible shape - everything all covered with sheets, like… the ghosts of my childhood.” She shuddered at the words. He wanted to do the same. “The years I spent in those rooms… I’m not even sure I would want to renovate it, honestly.” He looked up at the sky, growing dark now, and stars coming out, furrowing his forehead, before focusing on her in the dim light of her remaining fires again. “But with you… for you…”

His Hawke was silent, still leaning up against the wall, but staring at the stars as well. “For us…” she corrected. “Or not at all. Not for Starkhaven’s elite, or to prove something to the Chantry, or for any other fucking reason. If we don’t want this for us then there is no point…” she flushed, probably at her own presumption.

“I want what you want,” he promised. “Whatever it is. I signed papers promising you happiness.”

“Pretentious ass,” she kicked her leg out and wrapped it around his to drag him back in, assisted, ever so slightly, he thought, by her force magic. “You’re actually going to make me beg?”

“Not beg,” he smirked, hardly minding the name calling. “I want you to say it aloud. Just once, to admit what you really want out of our life together.”

“I don’t even know what I want,” she protested unconvincingly.

“You know,” he corrected, and kissed her again. “Say it, Hawke,” he ordered.

The Champion of Kirkwall opened her mouth, her lower lip quivering. “I want…” she closed it again, angry all at once. “Why do you have to make this so fucking hard? What about the cousin in Markham? What about…”

“Details,” Sebastian grabbed both of her hands before she could shove him away. “Details that can be worked through. His parents will be relieved. They were never happy with my decision, though they admitted the necessity. I‘m not the only one who remembers what happened to my family.” His eyebrows lowered. “Ask,” he prompted gently.

“’Bastian,” she struggled slightly, but he knew she could get free anytime, if she used her magic on him. “Sebastian Vael!”

“Say it like you want it,” he demanded. She mumbled something incomprehensible, that involved at least one blasphemy. “You’ll have to speak up, love.”

She glared at him, tears in her eyes. “Go to the Void. Give me a baby, Vael.” She looked away immediately. “And fuck you.”

“I do believe that’s how it’s normally accomplished,” Sebastian rocked back, at once smug and then melting at her vulnerability. “Love… I meant it. This… was always yours, if you wanted it, you know.”

“I…” he was unprepared for the slam of her hand on his shoulder, and then the sudden embrace that followed, nearly bowling him over. She was so warm, in comparison to the cool night air. “Thank you. For making this whole situation fucking _miserable_ ,” she told his chest.

“It’s not over yet,” Sebastian sighed, satisfied that despite what she said it was what she wanted, after all. She wouldn’t be so overcome, if it wasn’t. “It might take a little work.”

“Whatever,” Hawke pulled back. “I have the Fereldan work ethic on my side - if something needs done I just fucking do it already. Fereldans don’t procrastinate. What’s your excuse, Prince Vael?”

“Only that I just recently realized it was something that needed effort, my dear,” Sebastian laughed. He trailed his hand back down to cup her ass, “I should not have been so remiss. I will rectify the situation as soon as possible.” He trapped her mouth in his easily, as the prey was more than willing to be caught. “I swear it.”

***

“Are you sure you must depart so soon?” The prince genuinely sounded regretful, much to Asta’s surprise.

Asta smiled regally, and held out her hand. “I’m afraid the Inquisition has been forced to do without me for too long already. It’s time we made our way back to Skyhold, your highness.” The Prince took her hand and kissed it, ignoring his wife’s snicker in the background. He released it, and took Pippa’s hand and offered it the same treatment, to a slight giggle.

“In that case, I wish you all fair weather and good roads for your journey,” he smiled, and the weight of his crown seemed to fall away, making him look younger than his years.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Cullen offered. “And…” he faced Hawke, “I’ll let you know about the litter. Apparently it’s not going quite as smoothly as we had hoped, but…”

“No worries,” Hawke sprawled against the archway at the front of the palace. “Mabaris tend to get what they want. Just let me know when it works out, and I‘ll take a trip. Might be nice to see the homeland again, especially if I can avoid fucking Crestwood. Maker, I hate that place, even when it‘s not raining.”

“I will do that,” Cullen assured her.

“We’d best be on our way,” sighed Asta, as she climbed into the carriage waiting, extremely reluctantly. “Pippa?”

The little girl had mounted a horse, with her father’s help. “I’m riding, Mum.”

Asta’s shoulders fell. “I see…” she sighed, and then laughed. “Abandoning me to my solitary fate, it is? Betrayed and abandoned?”

“Only for a while,” Cullen kissed her cheek. “She won’t be able to manage riding for long, love.  She doesn't have the stamina yet.”

“Watch me,” grumbled the child.  "I'd rather be saddlesore than trapped in a box with wheels."

“After this, if I never see another carriage it will be too soon,” Asta whined, and took her seat. Cullen shut the door firmly, but Asta leaned out the window, even as the Ambassador was helped into her own seat across from her. She smiled and waved, and then the carriage jerked forward, and started moving.

“Here we go again,” Josie sighed, seemed to slump, and then stiffened deliberately. “Still, we can make the most of our travel time by going over issues that we will need to address up our return to Skyhold. First, I should bring you up to date on the key College representatives still in residence and their likely reactions to our trip to Starkhaven…”

Asta leaned back, closed her eyes and braced herself for the inevitable, even as every molecule in her body wanted to escape her Ambassador's clutches. “All right, Josie. Do your worst.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am not going to post on Monday, due to the American holiday, I will be posting an additional chapter of Lights in the Shadow today. I'll post my usual chapter of Asta's After on Tuesday, and then back to the regular schedule on Thursday. (Hint: You'll get to see what kind of a Warden my Cousland is, for the first time today, if you read it.)


	43. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. Wasn't happy with the beginning, and woke up this morning with a knowledge about how to fix the transition. It's better now. ;)

Varric _was_ Kirkwall.  The benighted and disgraced city had never done anything wise until they had made the dwarf Viscount.  Now, they were slowly again becoming a thriving player in the Free Marches economy - even if he still had a pile of letters from the Merchant's Guild and Prince Vael sitting ostentatiously in the wastebasket next to his desk.

The city wouldn't be the same without him.  Upon hearing that Pippa was about to turn eight, he insisted on hosting a 'small party' at the Keep, and then promptly turned over the planning to Josie, who managed, somehow, to find an Orlesian patisserie in Hightown that could provide an unholy amount of tiny cakes on a short timeframe.

It was... satisfying for Cullen to give his new daughter a nameday party for the first time since her mother had died.  She deserved to have more joy in her life.  Even if this particular party, despite Josie's best attempts, had only one other child guest (one that wasn't verbal) and had Varric's fingerprints all over it. 

“What do you mean you’ve never played Wicked Grace?” Varric’s rakish grin wasn’t nearly as surprised as the tone of his voice insinuated. “You’re celebrating your eighth name day and you’ve never played?  We have to fix that!  Curly, help me out here!”

Cullen sighed.  Varric would never change.  His wife and his sister in law's amused giggles across the room punctuated the dwarf's action as he fetched the cards.  Naturally, the Viscount kept a deck in his desk.

Pippa frowned, “The sisters said it was a sin to gamble.”

“Well, you aren’t in the Chantry now, Seeds, and what the sisters don‘t know won‘t hurt them,” Varric corrected. “Sit down, and I’ll fill you in on the rules. Curly, you're in, right?  Don't leave me hanging here!”

Cullen groaned. “I have no desire to have my daughter see me stripped in Wicked Grace, Varric.”

“We won’t play for money,” Varric protested. “What do you take me for?  We’ll play for…” he scrambled a bit, and then his eyes lit on the pile of little cakes Josie had ordered for the occasion, far more than the number of guests, “Little cakes. The blue ones are worth 10 coppers, the green 5, and the white 1. Deal?”

Cullen watched the dwarf cautiously, “And no betting… possessions?”

“Would I let a child do that?” Varric’s grin pulled even wider. “Seeds doesn’t have anything I want, Curly!”

“Somehow I need convincing,” Cullen grunted, but took his seat at the small table all the same, as Varric hoisted himself into the chair across from him. Asta was chatting animatedly across the room with her sister-in-law about the Starkhaven visit, and wouldn’t be able to rescue him. “But I suppose I’ll play. If Pippa wants me to,” he rolled his head to the side and met his daughter‘s eyes with a question in them.

“Yes, please,” her smile mitigated some of the inevitable embarrassment, he supposed, as pain pounded through his temples. “If you’re up to it, anyway, Da?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Just a headache.”

Nadiya pulled herself up on her father’s chair, “Up,” the baby demanded, and Varric reached down to lift her into his lap. “That,” she pointed to a card in her father’s hand.

“Oh no,” Varric chuckled. “I can’t tell you, or every one will know what I’m holding in my hand, Squirt!”

“THAT!” The toddler insisted, and took a deep breath, inflating her stocky chest, preparing to scream.

“Don’t give in, Varric!” Cassandra ordered, alarmed and lunging towards her daughter in a panic. “We can’t give into her tantrums!”

“I know, Seeker,” Varric insisted, his face firmed. Cassandra winced as the wailing began, marched over, and removed their daughter from his lap.

“We do not throw tantrums to get what we want,” she scowled at Nadiya, while removing her from the room, the wails continuing.  "Let's step out until we calm down," she scolded, her voice calm, warring with the expression on her face.

“No! Papa!” Nadiya screamed. “Papa!” Varric’s shoulders hunched, as if he was having a hard time not giving in to his daughter's demands for his presence.

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra’s voice scolded, and Cullen sighed, relieved that she had removed the source of the noise. He tried to focus on his cards.

Asta came over and looked at his hand, and patted his shoulder briefly in approval. “Are you all right, love?”

“I’m fine,” he argued. He was just used to feeling better, now. This wasn’t… normal any longer. His wife looked skeptical. “Just a headache,” he repeated.

“Again?” she worried aloud.  "It's been a while..."

“It’s fine.  Everyone has headaches occasionally.” Cullen bet two white cakes from his little platter. “I’m in,” he announced clearly. Varric eyeballed him over his cards and then shrugged.

“All right, Curly,” he anted up. “Let’s teach your daughter how to play.”

Two hours later, Pippa had all the cakes, and Varric had lost his necklace. “Well, shit,” the dwarf grumbled, ignoring his wife's disgusted noise at his language - the tantrum long since over and their daughter curled up in her arms. “Curly, your daughter either has the best beginner’s luck I’ve ever known, or she’s a ringer.”

Pippa smiled innocently, “I said the sisters said gambling was a sin. I didn’t say that I had never played.  You merely assumed that.” Josie hid a smile behind her hand from her seat nearby as Pippa tossed Varric’s gold chain back at him. “But we always gave back whatever we won so we didn‘t get caught.” She gathered all the cakes towards her. “But I’m eating all of these. Victory is sweet, right, Mum?” Asta groaned at the terrible pun, and Pippa took a large bite.

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose it’s a good thing that I didn’t expect to win, anyway.” Pippa weighed him and then handed him a single cake, begrudgingly.

“Sorry, Da,” she apologized. “I didn’t realize you’d be so terrible at Wicked Grace.  It was almost too easy.” She frowned, “You really ought to see someone about the headaches.”

Asta sighed, “If you can convince him, please do.”

Cassandra frowned at him from the sofa. “The balance of the lyrium in your blood should have long since found equilibrium, Cullen. Please, allow me…” she maneuvered her sleeping daughter horizontal on a blanket on the floor and stood, coming over and took his wrist, closing her eyes in concentration. “Cullen!” She dropped his wrist and glared a moment later. “When?!” She demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean…” Cullen stammered.

“Don’t lie to me,” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “The level of lyrium in your system is nearly as high as before the Exalted Plains. When did you take it?”

“I haven’t!” Cullen protested feebly.

“You…” Cassandra folded her lips irritably.  "How dare you..."

Asta shifted her glance between the two of them. “He hasn’t, Cass,” she offered quietly. “I can vouch for him, and so can my brother.”

“Then how?!” The Seeker argued.

“Shit,” Varric sighed. “Cass, you’ve never been to the Imperium, have you?”

“I have not,” the woman bit off.

“It’s in the fucking air there,” Varric tried to explain. “The dust on every corner, elixirs in every shop. They cater to those that need and want it. Curly hasn’t taken any… but its in his system all the same.  Wouldn't surprise me if they spread the fields with it.”  Petri nodded solemnly, masking concern.  "Nobody knows exactly why mages occur, after all, whatever Dorian claims about it running in family lines."

Asta picked up Cullen’s hand, her face white. “Cassandra, are you saying…”

“It will be like starting over,” the Seeker whispered, deep creases between tired eyes. “Cullen…”

He closed his eyes and sighed, “Asta, thank Dorian for a lovely experience?” He opened one eye and it glinted with an attempt at humor. “I’m not sure we ever thanked him for his hospitality.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Asta tried to smile. “At least we know why, exactly, your abilities came back?”

“A cold comfort,” Cassandra grumbled.

“It saved our lives.  And now I know what to expect, and how bad it will get,” Cullen sighed. Asta reached up and stroked his hair, gently. “I don’t suppose we could leave Kirkwall sooner, rather than later, love? I do not want to go through seasickness and withdrawal at the same time again. If I‘m going to be ill…”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” she promised. “Let’s get you home.”

Pippa shoved another cake in his direction.  "Sorry, Da."

Cullen frowned.  "None of that," he ordered.  "You enjoy your nameday and your ill-gotten gains.  It's just a headache, Pippa."  He smirked.  "But after this I'm teaching you to play chess, young lady.  Then you'll taste the bitterness of defeat."

Pippa smiled wanly, "All right, Da."  She nudged the cake a little closer all the same.  "But maybe if you eat something you'll feel better."

Cullen rolled his eyes and picked up the cake.  "For you, then," he chuckled.

 

***

 

It was a discussion Rhys and Evangeline should have had before they reached Kirkwall.  So many of their plans had been adjusted, and altered - but this one... this one was different.  They had both, with the Inquisitor's approval, read the history of the Seekers, and now...

“You’re staying,” Rhys took a deep breath. “Evangeline, you _are_ a Seeker already. Vigil or not. You can’t get any closer to a spirit of Faith than…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Evangeline argued, trying to maintain an air of reason. “I don’t owe the Seeker Order anything. I’ve made no vows. Rhys, you know that Pippa needs you… and you’ve already said how much you’ve learned just watching…”

“I can’t ask you to give up your _calling_ … Lady Cassandra said that you need to explore your gifts.  There is training here, training you need...”

“You’re my calling and the only gift I need,” Evangeline answered bluntly. “Besides, considering the… situation, I suspect Seeker Pentaghast would rather that I go to Skyhold.  She can't go right now, and she wants a Seeker presence...”

Rhys pulled his eyes away from hers. “Evangeline, I can’t…”

“Where you go, I go,” she reminded him. “Unless…” her words trailed off. “I thought… we‘ve been together for a while now… I suppose moving on…” It was only to be expected, she supposed, blinking rapidly.  She was not going to cry.

Rhys’ eyes shot back up to her face. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want… I do want…” he groaned and summed up, “My poor mother is probably cursing her awkward son from the Fade for screwing up his best chance at happiness.  I'm an idiot.”

Evangeline’s face relaxed, and her mouth turned up briefly. “A bit.” She paused, “Does this mean I don’t have to defeat you in single combat for the honor of staying by your side?”

“Lady Knight, if you insist on accompanying me, who am I to argue?” Rhys laughed, and scratched under his beard, as if the scar underneath his jaw still itched. “You are impossible to argue with when you look like that.”  Evangeline raised an eyebrow.  "Yes, exactly."

“Odd, my mother made no such claims,” the Knight shrugged. “But I was hardly her idea of a satisfactory daughter. Just…” she paused, as if preparing herself for something she didn’t want to admit. “Rhys, I don’t want to… lose you. No Order is worth that,” she muttered, almost too quietly to hear.  "I'd rather run away again, if it means..."

“My Lady Knight, that is the last thing you need to fear,” Rhys reached out his hand to pull her closer. “I know we’ve never made any promises...”

“How could we?” Evangeline’s temper, rare but vivid once roused, flared. “We’re hardly… normal. A Templar abomination and a mage? How is that a good combination to inspire promising forever?”

“Don’t,” Rhys ordered, tightening his arms. “You are _not_. There is nothing corrupt in you. I would know it, now more than ever. So would Pippa.” Evangeline tensed and then relaxed all at once, slumping against him. “How many more times shall we have this discussion before you believe me?” He asked wryly.

“Apparently at least this once more,” she admitted. “I’m trying, Rhys.  I believe it, most of the time.” She looked up at him, warily, still unsure. “Do you want me to stay in Kirkwall?”  Adrian had warned her that it wouldn't last... then she had blamed it on sour grapes, and the other mage's close held hatred and anger towards Templars, but...

“No.” His voice was curt and almost brutal.

“Then we both go,” Evangeline promised. “There will time enough for other… things when that duty is over. Perhaps then, I will come back to Kirkwall, and make more vows, learn what needs to be learnt about my abilities. But for now… I will remain at your side.”

“If you choose to do that, we both will,” Rhys murmured, and pushed her hair back from her face. “The Inquisitor told me that in Ameridan’s time, that mages helped the Seekers. Sounds like something that should be done again, don’t you think?“ He watched her, outwardly emotionless except for the pain in his eyes. “Shall I go tell the Inquisitor to expect both of us?”

Evangeline’s throat closed off, and her hands tightened on the back of his collar, but she managed, “I did,” she cleared her throat. “I already did,” she repeated.

Rhys laughed then, the rich sound rolling off the stone walls. “Of course you did,” he grinned then. “Anything else I should know about, my lady?”

Evangeline pretended to think, “Only that you are the most stubborn man in Thedas. But you know that.”

Rhys held her closer, and whispered. “Do you know what happens when I enter the Fade here?” Evangeline’s muscles tensed again. “This part of the Fade echoes with music, Evangeline. I’ve never heard anything like it. I even thought about summoning some of the spirits to show you…”

“I wish… I wish I could hear that, to remember it, I mean,” Evangeline hesitated, wistfully, her muscles slowly releasing as she relaxed her hands where they were tangled in the back of his robes.

“I’m not sure it will work,” Rhys admitted, “but for you, I will ask.  If you like?”  She swallowed, and then nodded briefly.  His answering smile was worth any trepidation she might feel.

He concentrated, hand to his forehead and summoned gently, explaining what he wanted to the ethereal beings that responded - rather corporeal for spirits. Evangeline watched, a little nervously, but somehow… hopeful. The beings seemed… flattered and possibly amused at his request.

And then they started to sing. It wasn’t anything like what she had heard before, harmonic and odd, their… voices twining about one another in wordless music as if they were building a tower, higher and higher and then dropping down abruptly, so that it was almost too low to register in her ears. She closed her eyes, and listened, awed, for some long minutes until Rhys thanked them, and sent them back to the other side, panting slightly at the exertion.

“That was…” she swallowed and began to scold, “That was quite possibly the biggest waste of magic I’ve ever seen, Rhys. You should know better than to exhaust yourself like that.”

Rhys’ face fell. “I’m sorry you didn’t…”

“And also the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me,” she cut him off and twined her fingers into his, squeezing gently. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he smiled slowly. He cleared his throat. “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” she smiled back, nearly shyly. “You don’t have to say it.” She squeezed his fingers. “It’s mutual.”

“Denied again,” he teased. “What do I have to do? Singing spirits wasn’t enough to drag it out of you… perhaps I need to enchant a giant spider to dance? I understand from Master Cerastes that there is a spell that will make cows fly… but the lack of wings is incredibly disappointing. I expected better from the Imperium…”

“Rhys,” she schooled her face into seriousness as she interrupted yet again. “I've followed you into the Fade once already. If my actions are not enough…” he kissed her, urgently, surprising her. She shaped the words with her lips after, and felt him smile against them.

He understood.

 


	44. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I edited the chapter I posted Tuesday, because I wasn't happy. I'm happier with this one by far. :)

Their family watched them go, Cassandra with a scowl reserved just for them, as Varric waved Nadiya’s hand and Bernie waggled her fingers from the dock with Max’s arm around her and a worried expression on her face. Asta went below immediately, followed by Cullen.

“Are you all right?” He asked, sensing something wrong.

“I’m fine, I think, just… mmm,” Asta held the side of her ever larger abdomen. “Just feeling… pressure? It’s not a kick,” she tried to explain. “Maybe a roll feels different now that he‘s bigger? Before it was more like he was playing Wallop in there, but now…”

“I should fetch Rhys,” Cullen was at her side in a moment, and sitting her down on the berth. “You should lay down…”

“Don’t fuss, Cullen,” she ordered weakly. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just… odd?” She laughed, shaking her head. “I have no way to explain this. You don‘t have the right parts.”

“I’m getting Rhys,” Cullen frowned. “You’re too far along to be writing off new sensations… what if something has gone wrong…”

Asta blew a stray hair out of her face. “I feel fine, now….” she tried to protest, but a moment later Pippa opened the door, Rhys entering right after her. “I think I’ve been tattled on, Cullen.”

“How long?” Rhys asked bluntly, kneeling by her bedside and looking up for permission to touch her stomach.

“All morning,” Asta gave in to the inevitable, given the scowl on her husband‘s face. “It’s just… pressure. No pattern. Just a… tightening. Only a few seconds at a time.” Rhys nodded, and turned to Pippa.

“How much can your friends sense of your brother?”

“He’s fine, just… grumpy and cramped?” Pippa giggled. “He doesn’t like when things get tight, but it doesn’t hurt him. He just wants more room.”

“Ah,” Rhys smiled then. “Nothing wrong, then, except that the Inquisitor’s body is getting her ready for labor.” He laid both hands on either side of her stomach and concentrated, and then whispered a single word, and the baby’s heartbeat thudded gently and rhythmically through the room. “He sounds fine,” he admitted after a minute. “If the episodes get regular, Inquisitor, or start getting painful, let me know, and lie down immediately. You aren‘t far enough along yet to risk early delivery.” He glanced up at his student. “I suspect your daughter will tell me before you know yourself, in any case. I‘m going to give Pippa permission to eavesdrop on her brother. We should use what tools we have available.” Pippa smiled mischievously.

“Are you sure they’re all right?” Cullen fretted aloud, paling at the words ‘early delivery‘, even as his face reflected his awe at the sound of his son’s thrumming heart.

“A little extra rest will do your wife no harm, but I suspect she was going to do that anyway,” Rhys chuckled. “We have at least a week on board, and rest is largely unavoidable. Just… take it easy, milady, and all will likely be well.” He concentrated again, as Asta made an involuntary noise as the pressure increased one more time, accompanied by a lazy stretch in her abdomen that caused visible ripples under her clothes.

“He’s trying to make more room,” Pippa explained. “He’s fine, though.” Asta gasped and reached for Cullen‘s hand, as a long sinuous ripple waved from one side to the other.

“That was… something,” she admitted reluctantly, catching her breath. “Not painful, exactly, just…”

“Lay back,” Rhys ordered immediately, and unfastened her tunic abruptly, to bare her stomach. He palpitated it gently, with his eyes shut and face tense. “I see,” he relaxed. “I think your son finally decided he would be better off head down,” he laughed then, as a lazy kick pushed up against his hands instead of sideways, the baby’s heartbeat still drumming steadily in the background. He removed his hands. “I’ll let you rest,” he smiled. “Ser Cullen, you will find that your son’s kicks will be slightly easier to find now. Count them, if it makes you feel better.”

“Thank you,” Cullen relaxed, and Asta refastened her tunic’s fasteners and angled herself down with a muffled ‘oof.’

Pippa stood, “I’ll get my bag, Mum. I think I have things you haven’t read yet.” She sprinted from the room, followed by the mage at a more leisurely pace.

Cullen settled himself on the berth next to her. “I’m sorry,” he fretted. “If I was healthier… we could have stayed in Kirkwall, let you deliver there. I had you running all over to make travel arrangements… this is my fault…”

“Don’t be silly,” Asta argued. “I’m fine. Ian is fine. We’re all fine. You should lay down more than I - you have another headache. Don‘t try to argue or deny it, Cullen.” She shifted forward. “Lay down, love,” she offered. “You can hold me, and we’ll…” she winked, “We’ll both feel better.”

Cullen looked skeptical. “Asta, this is hardly the time or…”

“Oh, quit arguing,” she countered. “Just lay the fuck down, Cullen.” A soft knock at the door was followed shortly by Josie.

“Is all well?” The Ambassador’s eyes looked tired. “Pippa said…”

“I’m fine, Josie,” Asta laughed, dismissively. “The occupant is getting restless, that’s all.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Pippa, if you like,” the woman offered. “So that you two can both get some sleep.”

“I would appreciate that,” Asta glared at Cullen, “If my husband would just admit he needs it.”

“I know better than to fight the Inquisitor and her Ambassador,” Cullen gave in and laughed slightly. “Very well, I will rest. Thank you, Josie.”

“I will speak with you later, then,” she murmured, inclining her head. “You are quite welcome, Cullen.” The Ambassador closed the door behind her softly, and Cullen lifted up to grab the bed shelf above them and swung himself into the bunk behind Asta easily, shifting down and curling himself around her, his hand resting on where his son’s feet had kicked most recently and stroking gently with his thumb.

“He’s fine,” Cullen whispered, more for his own comfort than Asta’s. “You’re fine.”

Asta snorted, “We’re all going to be okay, Cullen. Relax.” A swift kick landed on his palm, emphatic and fleeting. She covered his hand with her own, squeezing. He listened to her breath evening out, and laid awake, feeling their son’s kicks like little responses for every anxious thought his mind could come up with.

He fell asleep counting, the soft pulses another heartbeat.

***

The carriage stopped in the courtyard at Skyhold, and Asta alighted with difficulty and a groan, but looked around her appreciatively, weighing every small difference and change. An familiar face took the horses reins as she crossed in front.

“Senna?!” Asta stared at Master Dennet’s daughter. “But your races…”

“I’m exploring the opportunities for racing here. My Da isn‘t as young as he once was, and needs the specialized help. Just don‘t tell him I said so. It helps that he might finally have given up trying to get me into a dress,” the girl laughed, and rubbed the muzzle of the horse briefly. “Excuse me, Inquisitor, but my father will have my hide if I don’t get these beasts comfortable. He’s been up all night with your nuggalope, who is…” she paused uncomfortably, “Well, can you call it foaling, with a nuggalope?”

“I have no idea,” Asta laughed. “Ask Orlais?”

“I’ll pass,” the girl smiled, “Welcome home, Inquisitor.”

Barking came from above, and a large dog hurled itself down the stairs at Cullen, who just had time to brace himself before he was flattened. “Dane!” Cullen dropped to a knee, and ruffled the dog’s jaws. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” he admitted. The dog whined back in reply. “Well, I’m here now,” he laughed, and rose. “This is Pippa, Dane.” Pippa offered her knuckles and the dog sniffed, and rolled over, and Pippa, eyes wide, stretched out a hand to rub his belly.

“It’s a honor,” she whispered. “Da…” her face shone. “My friends can…” she sealed her lips then. “Sorry, I forgot I shouldn‘t talk about them.”

“It’s all right,” Asta argued. “The people here need to get used to you, not the other way around. I won’t let you pretend to be something you’re not.”

“I can’t pretend, Mum,” Pippa contradicted. “But I can…”

“But nothing, your Mum is right,” Cullen rested his hand on Asta’s shoulder in silent support.

Petri dismounted, looking all around him in awe. “It’s… old,” he managed. “How old?”

“Solas,” Asta began, and then stopped. “I’ll bring you the reports,” she summed up, somehow unwilling to discuss the Elvhen mage now that they were back in, what was still arguably, his castle. “Shall I arrange a tour?”

“Just show me to the library,” Petri joked. “And then the tavern, perhaps the wine cellar... I don’t really need anything else. I’m a man of few needs, Inquisitor…”

Cullen snorted, and then beamed again at the appearance of another familiar face. “Old man!”

“The exiled return!” The Commander saluted dryly. “I’ll report in later…”

“You don’t report to me,” Cullen argued, but laughing.

“I don’t know what else to call it, but I suppose we could do it over drinks in the pub, instead of standing at parade rest in my office,” Rylen agreed. “There’s a few things I should bring you up to date on, in any case…” He saluted, “Inquisitor, welcome home.” Asta nodded in recognition. “Can I help you with your bags, Ambassador?”

Josie pressed her lips together. “No, thank you, I will manage.”

“BULL!” Asta’s face lit up, and she threw herself up the stairs, moving far quicker than she should have been able to, in order to embrace the Qunari. “Bull!” She laughed loudly as he swung her around, leaving more room than necessary to accommodate her larger stomach.

“Shit, Boss! You look good!” Bull winked, possibly. “Bigger all ‘round!” Asta thumped him on the shoulder, laughing. “Cullen did you proud!” Cullen slapped Rylen’s shoulder and trailed up the stairs, Pippa behind him. The man froze, his single eye tracing back and forth from the child to Asta and shaking his head. “I heard the rumors, but… damn, Boss.” He dropped down to one knee and held out his hand, fingers missing. “I’m The Iron Bull,” he introduced himself. “Your Mum’s bodyguard, when she lets me. Yours, if she says so.”

“Pippa,” the child took his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Bull. I’ve heard a lot about you, and your Chargers… Mum says your second in command has good stories. I want to hear the one about the feathers.”

Bull snorted. “Yeah, you’ll be hearing more of those, no doubt.” He cleared his throat and rose. “So… you’ll be wanting to get settled. I’ll let you do that…” he eyed Asta’s stomach in approval. “I mean it, Boss. You look good. Shit.” He reached out and almost touched her and then stopped. “Sorry.”

“Go ahead, Bull,” Asta laughed, took his hand and rested it on the rise. They waited a moment, and were rewarded.

“Fuck,” mumbled Bull, pulling his hand away, and then winced. “Sorry, Boss.”

“I’ve heard it before,” Pippa giggled. “Mum, do I have to go up, or can I…” she nodded at Bull.

“Do you mind, Bull?” Asta felt vaguely like apologizing, but Pippa would be safer with the large man than possibly anyone except for Cullen.

“You give the orders, Boss,” Bull grinned. “Don’t mind in the least. Cullen… Rosalie is in from the field, if you want to…”

“Oh,” Cullen paled suddenly, “How is she…”

“Ask me yourself!” A voice yelled from the top of the stairs by the tavern, and Rosalie, freckled, tan, brown hair streaked blonde by sunshine, and her arms bare to her shoulders in a loose tunic, her muscles clearly defined, floated down gracefully, laughing. “Honestly, Cull, what the Void?! Branson says you’re writing him constantly, and I’ve had what… three letters in nearly as many fucking years?” She embraced him. “And Mia says you found a niece, and…” she saw Asta. “Shit,” she summed up, staring openly. “That’s bigger than I thought it’d be. How long?”

“Maybe two more months?” Asta estimated.

“And yet another boy, if Mia can be believed,” grumbled the woman. “You and Branson need some variety in your diet or something. We need more women in the family.” Cullen blushed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Should hear any day about Grace, now. Mia says she‘s ready to pop.”

“Do I get a hug?” Asta demanded, trying to break up the awkwardness between the siblings.

Rosalie stared for a moment, and then embraced her fiercely. “Of course you do,” she sniffled a little. “Mia would have my hide for being rude.” She pulled back. “You realize that I’ve just broken about five rules about interacting with the Inquisitor while she’s in Skyhold, and that the Commander will chew me out later? He‘s watching me right now.”

Asta shook her head, “Today you’re family, not a scout,” she argued. “You need to meet Pippa, and Petri and…” she laughed, “But there will be time. Dinner in the Great Hall tonight?”

“I’m in for a bit, anyway, while we re-supply, I think we‘re supposed to investigate rumors of red lyrium deposits near Amaranthine next, and it will take a while for the officers to prepare,” Ros agreed. “And…” she paused, a little shyly. “Do you mind if Krem tags along? I… we‘re, sort of… we.”

“Hmm,” Cullen managed to look disapproving. “Do I need to find out Krem’s intentions towards my baby sister?”

“Don’t you dare,” Asta threatened under her breath just as Bull let out a bellow of a laugh.

“Oh, Krem’s intentions are definitely not innocent,” he assured Cullen. “He’s earned whatever’s coming to him. Trust me…”

Ros crossed her arms a little defensively. “Fuck off, Bull,” she threw at the man. Bull looked impressed despite himself. “It’s our business, Cullen. Stay out of it.”

Cullen grinned, “You sure? I think I have about twenty years or so of teasing to make up for…” Rosalie shoved him and he stumbled down a couple of stairs. “All right, all right,” he finished. “I’ll leave it alone.”

“Bring Krem,” Asta sighed, rolling her eyes at Cullen, and feeling all her tense muscles relax. “Maker, it’s good to be home.”

Cullen smiled, and took her hand. “That it is.”

 


	45. Alliances

Loranil shifted sideways as Asta stared briefly, weighing the man‘s opinion carefully. “I didn’t think it was a bad idea,” the elf summed up. “Given that Fen’Harel’s base of operations seems to have shifted North from the Dales, I thought…” he hesitated, “I thought perhaps having a permanent representative of the Inquisition proper in Kirkwall would be wise. My wife and I have already discussed it, and we‘re willing to go.”

“It’s a brilliant idea,” Asta decided with a swift nod. “Of course, Loranil. Josie, would you write to the Viscount and request that he have someone arrange for housing for Loranil and his family?” She beamed. “Loranil, you’ve done tremendously.” she shook her head. “I haven’t made it easy for anyone. But you moving North, and expanding our influence there… it’s very nearly ideal! Cassandra will have someone with authority to refer to…” she paused. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in formally becoming the next Lord Seeker?”

Loranil blanched visibly. “Please, Inquisitor, given the number of threats on my life since the Council, I hardly think I need a bigger target on my back, do you? An elven Lord Seeker is asking for trouble in this climate.” Josie made a humming sound that suggested she disagreed, but that it required more thought.

Asta shrugged, “It can hardly get worse.” She sighed, “But perhaps I am desensitized to the constant threats. I can hardly remember what it was like before half of Thedas wanted my head. We will, however, have to fill that post at some point, and Cassandra refuses to consider the role. We‘ve only gotten away with it this long because there are so few Seekers left.”

“You could just let it die out,” Josie offered up hesitantly, but Asta shook her head.

“Every Order needs a leader,” she insisted. “I learned that the hard way, when the Inquisition was young. I may not be what we needed, but at least I was willing. I don’t want to thrust an unwilling role on Cassandra. A solution will present itself, if we are patient enough, I‘m sure.” Josie nodded. “So, in conclusion, Loranil is relocating to Kirkwall, to head our work there, and I will remain here.” She took a deep breath. “And now… I need to know the state of both the Circle and the College, as in depth as we can manage.”

The room’s topic shifted abruptly, with Rylen and Loranil summing up their viewpoints of both the threats apparent from the Circle, and the College’s continuing struggles with autonomy and decisionmaking. “Stop,” Asta held up a hand after several minutes of information. “Who is in charge of the individual Colleges? I need to meet these people, and they need to elect one person to represent…”

“They are… reluctant to give any one person that level of authority,” Rylen admitted slowly. “The College heads are all here in Skyhold, however - though the isolationist representative is a bit of a hermit. Hard to find, that man.” Cullen choked back a laugh.

“Given what happened with Fiona in Redcliffe, I can’t blame them,” Asta admitted. “But don’t they see that not having a central authority is making them weaker? The Circle doesn’t have numbers, but if they have Vivienne, they have connections. That’s… dangerous, if they intend to remain free. A loose collective of mages isn‘t organized enough to counter demands from the nobility, or deal with issues that erupt from mages living outside the Circle.” The Ambassador nodded along in approval of Asta’s assessment.

“The Circle is undeniably being led by the Right Hand of the Divine,” Josie confirmed. “She leverages her acquaintances easily within the Empress’ court, as well as playing off the more common fears of magic. I believe you’ll find…” she stopped abruptly, and motioned to Loranil. “You’d better tell her, Loranil. The letter was addressed to you, after all.”

Asta smiled at seeing the two work together so well, only to have her smile slowly fade with Loranil’s words. “She wrote to us last week, informing us that she was coming for a visit, to ‘consult’ with the College’s representatives.”

Josie smiled faintly, “The letter from Divine Victoria arrived later that same day, informing us that she would be arriving before her,” she handed the next missive to Asta, her hand only shaking slightly.

“Shit,” Asta summed up. “This isn’t about the College. This is about Pippa.” Loranil looked confused. “It’s a family matter,” Asta sighed. “Or it would be, if Vivienne would let it go. Pippa is a Dreamer, albeit… a young one.” The elf squinted vaguely at the map, as if the answers to their problems would be found there.

“Shit is right,” Rylen’s eyes were wide. “Cullen?”

“No,” he answered to the unasked question. “It’s not an option, Rylen.” He raised his eyes from the map on the table to war with Rylen’s openly. “Don’t even ask.”

“You’d put us all at risk…”

“Why?” Cullen snarled, “Did a Dreamer in Starkhaven actually cause danger to anyone but themselves? I know in Kirkwall that we were warned of the threat they posed, but nothing happened to anyone but Feynriel. It was just Meredith, trying to control us all by fear and intimidation, as always! Pippa is being trained, by the best we can find. And she is my daughter. I will not…” his throat closed off, and he cleared it obstinately.

“You’ll make the same mistakes as Ser Thrask back in Kirkwall,” grumbled Rylen, raking his hand through his hair, and not meeting his friend’s eyes. “He died for his mistakes, Cullen. So did his daughter. Don’t you remember?!”

“If you had a daughter, you’d do the same,” Cullen tossed at him, Rylen pressing his lips together, to stifle any harsh words that might slip out. “As the Inquisitor said, it is a family matter.”

“We will let you know if that changes,” Asta blew her hair out of her eyes, and rested her hand on her stomach lightly. “Josie, I don’t suppose that there’s anything we could bring in to eat?”

“A break would be wise, Inquisitor,” the Ambassador agreed. “And I will have a runner fetch you a chair… and a stool for your feet.”

Asta laughed and tried to look at her ankles, without any luck. “They’re swelling, aren’t they?”

The Ambassador cleared her throat artfully. “I would not say that, Inquisitor,” she temporized. “But putting your feet up might be wise.” She paused and then slyly continued. “We need to discuss the changes that need to be made to your tower to accommodate your growing family, in any case. Time is too short to complete the alterations before the arrival of your child. It’s a shame you would not allow me to begin immediately. I have a list here of the gifts that need to be acknowledged with personal notes… and we have yet to arrange the party that you promised me I could hold upon your return. _I_ have not forgotten, but with the Divine‘s visit imminent, I would suggest we combine the celebrations to include Her Perfection‘s arrival.” She pointed the point of her quill at Asta stubbornly, “And you will behave during her visit. You need her in order to keep your daughter here - if you antagonize her as you did in Kirkwall…”

Asta sank into the chair when it arrived, groaning involuntarily with relief, and changed the subject. “I don’t suppose you could write the notes, and that I could sign my name?”

“Not this time,” the Ambassador smiled serenely, “However, if Cullen would like to do half the work, it would be appropriate.”

“That’s only fair,” Asta glared when Cullen made a sound of protest. “You got me here, love. Least you can do is tell the charming people that sent the 45th pair of booties that we adore them. To work?” Cullen sighed, and took the list.

“To work,” he grumbled.

***

The Divine arrived, accompanied by her Left Hand, who promptly disappeared into the Undercroft to see her Widdle, after blowing a vague raspberry in the direction of Asta’s stomach. The two authorities stared at each other for a while, and Asta attempted to find a way to address the awkwardness and hostility that had grown between them at their last meetings.

Leliana broke the silence first, “How long now?”

“Four weeks, Ellendra says,” Asta winced. “It seems like forever.” She poked at herself irritably, and Ian thrust back. “I swear, this child will never have enough room. I‘m more than ready for this to be over.”

“I wanted to prepare you,” the Divine started walking, gesturing Asta to follow. “I have heard of your… daughter and wanted to assure you that I do not support renewal of the Circles as they were. Or indeed, at all. Any steps in that direction are being taken purely by the mages themselves. The largest contingent is at the White Spire. I‘ve sent my notes to Lace.”

“Good,” Asta’s voice was fierce.

“But I have only the vaguest understanding of what dangers a Dreamer poses,” Leliana continued. “And I understand that you have been searching out the rods used in the Tranquil ritual…” she stopped.

“I have no intention surrendering them to the Chantry,” Asta began, in a threatening tone. “I will not even tell you where they are being kept - that is a secret known only to me and a handful of others. If something happens to me and Cullen, Cassandra and Varric know, as well as Hawke. I intend to share the location with Loranil as well. But not you. Never you.”

“I am not asking you to do either of those things,” snapped the Divine, and then recoiled with surprise, laughing lightly. “Oh, Asta, it’s so refreshing to have someone argue with me, instead of merely going behind my back to do as they see fit!”

Asta stared, and then started to chuckle, albeit reluctantly. “I imagine that must be trying. No shortage of people to argue with here, after all. Never has been.”

“I’ve… redirected Vivienne elsewhere, if you haven‘t heard. Back into the Free Marches, where she can comfort conservatives with her opinions on magic. I told her I would make her apologies for the change of plans,” Leliana sighed. “You don’t need the stress of her visit right now. And Madame de Fer is trying, is she not?” Her mouth quirked up in humor. “However did you manage to remain in her company for so long - and in the Deep Roads, no less! Surely your temper must have frayed occasionally?”

“Perhaps,” Asta admitted. “But it’s hard to argue with a woman who can single handedly take down a Hivernal, you know. You must have seen her in the Arbor Wilds!”

“No, she was with the Commander, but I can use my imagination,” the Divine giggled, and then tilted her head gracefully. “Do I get to meet your prodigy? You know that I cannot prevent Vivienne from taking… other steps. Having met the mage in question might help me with a counter argument, if one proves to be necessary.”

Asta blew air out heavily, “I know. Josie has all but begged me to stay on your good side. But I can’t ask you to make a formal proclamation. I have no evidence that we’re doing the right thing. All we know is the Circle’s old format doesn’t result in stable Dreamers. If we could only talk to Solas… but that’s not an option, obviously. I’ve consulted with Lady Cerastes, who raised five mage children to adulthood, and with Fiona, who is oddly reticent about discussing children at all, and Rhys claims that Pippa is making excellent progress… but is it _enough?_ We have no way of knowing until…” She stopped, covering her eyes with her hand, and rubbing slightly. “I apologize. I’m… venting my worries upon you, Your Perfection, and all before I even attempt to apologize for my behavior in Kirkwall. I was overly suspicious of your motives. Perhaps,” Asta added dryly.

“Oh, please, don‘t start with the absurd titles again,” Leliana snorted, “And doesn’t everyone vent to me? I haven‘t heard so many confessions since I was in Lothering. I‘m not going to give a non-believer absolution in any case.”

“You‘ve never heard one from me,” Asta observed dryly. “I’m hardly the sort to pour out my woes to a representative of the Chantry. Even Mother Giselle doesn’t have the privilege of having the Inquisitor bend her ear about her family troubles. And I‘m not asking the Divine for forgiveness, I‘m asking a friend.”

“The Inquisitor stands apart,” Leliana sighed, “you needed to do so, and it’s even more the case, now.” She smiled at the ground and deflected, “I’m leaving Sera here. Ostensibly to report to me, but really, because she has missed you all horribly. Especially her Widdle. Skyhold is more of a home than she‘s ever had.”

Asta smiled, “I’m not sure whether to thank you, or beg your pardon even further. But thanks, I suppose. I‘ve missed Sera and her unique point of view.” She paused, and offered, slowly, “Do you want to meet Pippa? Pippa for herself, I mean, not because you need to make a decision or a judgment call.”

Leliana lifted her eyes, gleaming with hope, “I truly do, Asta. I hear funny things - that she is much like you… and a little like Cole?” She swept her robes sideways out of the dust of the courtyard. “He’s doing well with Maryden. Last I heard, they were in Denerim, entertaining the King. He asked to be remembered to you, and told you that he would come see you later this year. There was also some strangeness about the Warden-Commander, but it didn‘t make any sense to me.” There was a wrinkle between her eyes that had never been there before. “I hope she is all right. She’s not… precisely known for her sound judgment, whatever the stories claim.”

“Pippa isn’t that much like Cole, or me, for that matter.” Asta shook her head, and bit her lip. “Most stories are exaggerated, I find.” She puffed a breath. “Very well, then, may I ask that you meet her as someone other than the Divine?”

“Won’t she realize in any case?” Leliana quirked up the corners of her lips. “I understand that she is… intuitive, shall we say?”

“She may know, but she won‘t say,” Asta defended the request. “If I introduce you, I want it to be as… a friend, not as the Most Holy.”

“Very well,” Leliana agreed, eagerly. “Give me something to change into, and I…”

Asta smirked, “I have just the thing. Come on.”

Thirty minutes later, Leliana was dressed in the simplest Inquisition scout uniform available. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at the Inquisitor.

“Immeasurably, Your Perfection,” Asta surveyed the view. “It fits like a glove, Leliana. I’m a bit envious - and you in the city of tiny cake nirvana. I haven’t been able to fit into armor for months now. Odd, how much I miss it at times. Come on, she’ll be in the library with Petri this time of day, studying.”

“And you say she‘s nothing like you,” Leliana sighed. “Lead on, Inquisitor?”

They turned the top of the staircase to find Petri sitting at a table with the child in question buried in a book, silent, while her instructor looked on, watching Minaeve and Helisma chat quietly about demon remains and how to increase the effect of Cleansing runes with Dagna‘s assistance. Neither noticed their audience.

“Oh ho,” Leliana nudged Asta, carrying on in a whisper. “Is that the friend you brought back from Tevinter? The archivist? He‘s adorable! What‘s going on there?” She nodded towards where Petri’s eyes rested.

“Impossible, Helisma insists that relationships make her less efficient.” Asta looked again, and her eyebrows went up, “Oh!” She gasped. “Minaeve?!” She grinned, teeth bared. “I’ve missed your sharp eyes, Leliana. I’m going to tease Petri relentlessly about this…” she bit her lip eagerly, eyes shining. “Wait until I tell his _mother,_ ” she hissed in anticipation.

“You’re diabolical,” Leliana stated approvingly. “Shall we, though?” She stepped out and stopped. “Is this your daughter, Inquisitor?” She took the step of slightly toning down her accent, thicker with her time in the capital. Petri started upright, and the former spymaster stifled a laugh.

 _“Mum!”_ Pippa looked up. “You won’t believe what I just learned! Did you know that the Neromenians came from…” she stopped suddenly, her eyebrows lowered menacingly. “You’re not a scout. You shouldn‘t wear clothes that don‘t belong to you.”

“I am not,” Leliana didn’t react. “I’m… an old friend of your Mum’s.”

“Mum wants to believe you. You’re lonely,” Pippa’s brow creased in concern. “Colder at the top, above it all, overseeing everything, few people to trust, and fewer yet to challenge you. The Sun gives no heat, no warmth, no comfort, and yet… you believe it gives life.” Her confusion grew, clouding her eyes.

“One must believe in something,” Leliana agreed willingly enough.

Pippa narrowed her eyes, “Even if it turns out to be wrong?”

“Even if,” Leliana stated without hesitation. “Faith is important. It can give us purpose.”

“Zealotry is dangerous,” Pippa countered.

“So is disillusionment,” Leliana sighed. “And one easily grows into the other, without guidance, yes?”

“I suppose,” Pippa lost interest. “Did you need me, Mum?”

“Just wanted to introduce you to my friend, Leliana,” Asta smiled, and watched the hope bloom again in Leliana’s eyes. “Leliana, this is Pippa, my daughter.”

“You still aren’t sure,” Pippa clarified. “She stole time from you and Da, time you didn’t have. You resented her.”

“But I’m trying to understand and forgive,” Asta reminded her. “It‘s exhausting to suspect everyone and everything. Leliana was my advisor first, and then my friend before… she became who she is today. So we have to try, don‘t we?” Petri was looking very confused, shifting his gaze between the two women.

Leliana laughed, a tinkling bell. “So do we all,” she agreed. “Some of us more than others. Your Mum is being very… gracious. It‘s a pleasure to meet you, in any case, Mistress Pippa.”

“I’ll leave you to your work,” Asta kissed Pippa’s head. “See you when you’re finished?”

“All right,” Pippa was already looking up the next rune in her lexicon, as Petri caught Asta’s amused eyes briefly. Leliana winked at the archivist.

“We’ll talk later, Petri,” Asta assured him. Petri covered his face with a single hand. “And how we will talk.” Minaeve’s head raised briefly from her scroll by Helisma’s table, and her eyes focused on the other mage, his face hidden.

“I don’t suppose begging for mercy would help?” He mumbled.

“Apparently, the Inquisitor‘s mercy is not the one you need,” Leliana’s ringing laughter followed them both back down the stairs. Pippa watched her tutor bury his face in his arms.

“It’s all right, Petri,” she whispered. “They’re just teasing.”

“I am fully aware, Pippa,” he lifted his head, and nodded at her page. “Next rune, please. This time, translate aloud.” He shifted his eyes away from the two researchers again, “Apparently I need the distraction.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I'll be able to get out a chapter this Thursday or not, as I have houseguests. Hopefully so - I'm a massive introvert, and having houseguests drives me crazy in a matter of days without an outlet. If not Thursday, it will happen Friday afternoon (evening for most of you, or Saturday for those of you in Europe.).


	46. Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posting tomorrow's chapter today, because I have time, and likely won't tomorrow.
> 
> I get pretty deep here. So many headcanons and theories. If you have questions, just ask!

“I could sic your mother on you,” Asta mentioned to the mage a few days later, back in the library, without Pippa, and for once, despite the Divine’s visit, free to torment her friends. Sera had yet to emerge from her Widdle’s room, and Dagna had not been seen for even longer, given the long hours she habitually kept in the Undercroft. “Honestly, Petri…”

“Dumat‘s Silence, Mother would…” Petri torment was visible. “But it doesn’t matter. She’ll never look at me.”

“That’s not the issue here, you dirty old man!” Asta shook her head. “She’s in her twenties, at least. But you must be ten years older than her!”

“She just celebrated her 24th nameday, so it’s only seven years,” he corrected, and then blushed. “Asta, I assure you, it’s only… admiration. She’s so brilliant, and… studious… and dedicated to her work…”

“And pretty,” Asta supplied, with a giggle.

Petri sighed, but didn‘t deny it, “I will not act. You know I won’t. We have a professional relationship, but she… fears me.”

“What makes you say that?” Asta countered. “Minaeve was originally Dalish, but was taken to the Circle when she was seven. She’s spent more time with humans than…”

“Not because I‘m human, or not… just that, anyway. It’s because I’m…” Petri bit his lip. “Asta, I’m a… ‘Vint,” he emphasized, blushing at the slur on his ancestry. “I represent everything that is wrong with my homeland… and she’s an _elf._ Why would she ever trust me, much less…” he closed his eyes. “These feelings will fade…”

“Oh, so now ‘admiration’ and ’a professional relationship’ has evolved into ‘feelings’, plural,” Asta teased, enjoying herself far too much. “Why don’t you just tell her you’d like to get to know her better? No one here will stand in your way. You‘re both adults!”

“No,” Petri shut down. “She just wants to study. She‘s made that quite clear.” He turned away, “Inquisitor, I apologize for… before. I won‘t be distracted during my time with Pippa again.”

“You don’t know me well enough, if you think this is over,” Asta giggled again, wickedly. “You don’t have to corner her, you know. Just tell her you admire her ‘dedication’ in passing.” She cleared her throat, “You know, she’s never been Harrowed. She thinks she’s weak, for a mage. I think that she fears her own magic, given her early childhood. Assuming she’s told me the truth about that, anyway. It doesn’t quite add up. You… might be good for her.”

Petri cast a surprised glance at his friend. “How could I be good for her?”

“You’re not afraid of what you can do. You know it can be used for things other than violence,” Asta pointed out. “The first time I met Minaeve, she confessed to me that she doesn’t like to use her magic for fighting. What was it she told me…” Asta looked up at the ceiling of the library alcove. “Ah, she told me she liked learning rituals that unlocked the mysteries of the Veil,” she remembered with a smirk. “You could show her the Evanuris collection,” she waggled her eyebrows at the mage pointedly. “Show her a few ‘rituals’ of your own?”

Petri blushed, a deep uniform red, all the way down to his high collar. “I couldn’t…”

“She’d love it,” Asta whispered, leaning over the table towards him. “Minaeve is foremost a scholar, Petri. Much like you.”

“She would,” Helisma announced clearly behind them, and the two started away from each other. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Inquisitor, Master Cerastes,” the Tranquil stated calmly, as ever. “But Researcher Minaeve has shown considerable interest in the works that Master Cerastes brought with him from Tevinter, but has been reluctant to request access, given that it isn’t her field.” The Tranquil observed the archivist blandly. “She would like to speak to you in depth about several things, but is unsure about how to bring them up.”

“In depth,” Asta hummed a snicker at Petri’s expense. The tan ‘Vint was almost purple now. “That sounds promising… I wonder how deep into the collection you could go…”

“Stop it,” Petri hissed at Asta, and Helisma turned away. “Not you, Helisma… please…” he stopped the Tranquil with a near look of desperation. “You’ve…” he cleared his throat of obstructions, “talked about me?”

“Minaeve spends an unreasonable amount of time when she should be studying watching you,” the Tranquil woman expressed without humor, or any other inflection in her voice. “I’ve noticed you do the same. It’s inefficient, but not unusual. I have noticed similar behaviors in various people, with different results. In addition, she has several views about you that are not based in fact.”

“What did she say?” Asta asked curiously.

“She believes Master Cerastes has the loveliest eyes,” the woman stated clearly. “Like ‘moss in the Brecilian Forest‘, and I quote. There is nothing about your eyes that are plantlike, Archivist Cerastes, nor are they anything but functional. In addition, she has made several unsubstantiated comments to me about other… personal attributes, and has expressed the opinion that he is shy.”

Asta snorted outright. “Shy. Our Petri?”

“Master Cerastes has not shown himself to be withdrawn or introverted in any other setting or company,” the Tranquil stated in an even tone. “I have noticed, however, that Master Cerastes has difficulty speaking around Researcher Minaeve, to the point that he avoids her. She believes he does not care for her personally, having observed that he does not have similar difficulties around other elves in the Inquisition, such as Archivist Banon.”

“But that’s ridiculous…” Petri protested.

“If Helisma says so, it’s not ridiculous,” the woman being discussed appeared from through the balcony door abruptly. “Don’t contradict her, Master Cerastes.”

“I wasn’t…” Petri stammered and blushed. “She’s… not wrong,” he managed feebly.

“She’s never wrong,” Minaeve pointed out. “She’s Tranquil. I know you have Tranquil in the Imperium, Serah. Their focus is unparalleled, and Helisma’s conclusions in particular are…”

“I’m not arguing with you or her,” Petri was in fact doing just that, but Asta bit her lip rather than make that observation. “In this case, she was expressing someone else’s opinions that I was disputing…”

Minaeve bristled. “If someone has been bothering her or the other Tranquil, I would appreciate it if you would tell me…”

“No one has been bothering her!” Petri held up his hands hopelessly. “It was about you… she said… Helisma said you thought I disliked you!”

Minaeve shifted her eyes to the Inquisitor, eyes narrowed and burning. “Is this what you were talking about? Idle gossip?!”

“It was,” Asta was endlessly amused. “Helisma says you think Petri doesn’t care for you personally. I didn‘t realize that Tranquil spent so much time observing people. Or that they could gossip.”

Minaeve flushed angrily, “How Master Cerastes feels about me is… irrelevant. Helisma, I would ask you to not discuss my personal… opinions with others in the future unless I am present.” She took a shuddery breath. “If you’ll excuse me, I have… work to do,” her voice was tight.

“Of course, Minaeve,” the Tranquil agreed.

“I don’t hate you,” Petri protested bluntly and desperately. Minaeve froze. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression…”

“That’s… good to know,” Minaeve nearly whispered. “Excuse me.” She disappeared down the stairs, a muffled sound echoing back up, like a soft sob.

“Oh,” Asta realized belatedly how much they had embarrassed the other woman. “Petri… I should go…”

“I have to find her,” Petri’s hands shook slightly. “I… have to fix this. Helisma… do you know where she would have gone?”

The Tranquil hesitated. “As this is not a personal opinion, I will tell you, that she often goes to the lower levels when she needs to be alone. Otherwise, try the top of the mage tower. She finds the view peaceful.”

“I’ll go to the tower,” Asta offered awkwardly. “If she’s not in the lower floors, I’ll keep her there until you make it. Maybe I’ll get a chance to apologize first.”

“You can’t climb ladders at this stage of pregnancy,” Petri argued. “You’d never make it.” He shoved past her, almost rudely. “I’ll go to the tower. You head downstairs.”

After extensive searching, Asta admitted that Minaeve hadn’t gone downstairs, and made her way back to her rooms, feeling about as graceful as a Gurn, as she climbed her stairs slowly and deliberately, to find her husband seated at her desk, frowning. “Cullen, tell me not to interfere in other people’s relationships,” she settled onto her sofa, back to the arm, and lifted her feet up with a wince.

Cullen sighed, and looked up from yet another letter from Branson, “What have you been doing now, Inquisitor?”

“I made Minaeve cry,” Asta said, after working out how to explain, and giving up entirely in the mix of ‘he said that she said that she saids’ that scrolled through her brain. “I’m a horrible woman who should mind my own business.”

“Minaeve?!” Cullen looked up, startled. “How?”

Asta started to explain, and then shook her head. “I think I shouldn’t gossip any more today. Just let me say that Petri has a crush, and I tried to help, and made the object of his affection cry instead.”

Cullen chuckled. “Definitely stay out of it, love. But Petri and Minaeve?” He thought for a moment, “Actually, they’re well paired.”

“I know!” Asta sat up abruptly, full of enthusiasm. “I was just trying to help!”

“You aren’t Cole, and definitely can‘t make them forget how you‘ve messed up. Perhaps you should mind your own business,” Cullen snickered. “After all, your poor husband has been up here all alone…” Dane barked, insulted, “All alone with his dog,” he corrected, and Dane settled again, with a muffled conciliatory whoof, “all day, while you interfered in the love lives of various Inquisition members…”

“I did other things too. Important ones. Involving the Divine and the College. And even now Petri is up on the mage tower apologizing to the poor woman,” Asta sighed, and Cullen froze. “Wait… we can see the mage tower from my balcony!” Asta shifted her feet back to the floor.

“Asta… we shouldn’t…”

“Shhh,” Asta whispered and made her way to the balcony. “Sounds could carry… Oh!” Two small figures were evidently arguing furiously with each other on top of the tower, their robes - one a more Southern cut, and the other obviously Tevinter, by the shoulder pads - whipped by the wind that pulled their words away from Skyhold. “That looks bad,” Asta said in a very small voice. “Have they been fighting all this time?!”

The slighter figure abruptly grabbed the back of the larger’s head with both hands and pressed herself to him, and Asta and Cullen’s eyebrows raised as the larger, startled for just a moment, cupped the back of her skull and twined his arm around her waist, as if scared to touch her, but unable to resist given the provocation. “Oh!” Asta gasped happily. “That looks… better!”

Cullen tugged at Asta disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t watch. Didn‘t you just say that you needed to mind your own business?”

“Shhh,” Asta batted at his hands ineffectually. “This is just getting good.”

“Asta!” Cullen criticized, but watched all the same as they parted slightly, only to kiss once, twice again, more slowly and far more briefly, only to have the slighter figure back away, and drop down the ladder as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Wait until I tell his mother,” Asta grinned evilly.

“I forbid you to tell Petri’s mother,” Cullen said firmly. “That would be cruel. I don‘t think Minaeve…”

“You can’t stop me, Cullen. I’m the Inquisitor. And Lady Cerastes will love her,” Asta waved his protests away. “She just wants him to be happy. Her four other sons made good matches, and now she just wants her baby to find his own way.” Cullen gave up trying to pull her inside and wrapped his arms around her instead, and tucked his chin into her neck, as they watched Petri pace back and forth with his hand on his head, as if he was debating something internally. “She’s just socially awkward. I’m going to be just like her, when Pippa and Ian start taking notice of such things. I can‘t wait.”

“Maker forbid,” Cullen groaned.

“You know he’s not paying attention, Cullen,” Asta smirked as Petri finally descended the ladder, far more slowly than the woman who left before him.

***

“So, Dreamers merely are those mages who do not need lyrium to enter the Fade,” Leliana sat back deliberately in the comfortable chair provided for her in Asta’s rooms, closing the Tome of Slumbering Elders, procured at great expense through the Black Emporium, thoughtfully. “They are injured by the proximity of demons, and possibly are more common in Tevinter and amongst the Dalish… and the Evanuris were all likely Dreamers in their own rights.” Asta started at this, and then frowned at her book, as if it had offended her.

“That probably explains… certain things about my country’s culture,” Petri muttered, flipping madly through the scrolls laid out before them all on the Inquisitor’s desk, angry. “Such as the encouragement of relationships with elven slaves. They were trying to spread the trait. It’s probably been going on since Thalsian. Disgusting.” The archivist pressed his lips together firmly, white around the corners.

Asta flipped the pages on her own book almost idly, her eyes unfocused, and her mind miles away. “Asta,” the Divine prompted, “what are you thinking?”

“What?” Asta snapped her head up. “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t… what did you say, Petri?”

“Just deciding that Dorian likely has the right of it, as far as the Imperium is concerned,” Petri’s face was a little green. “Perhaps it would be better to burn it down and start over. It couldn’t be much worse.”

“Never say that,” Leliana contradicted, deadly serious, her eyebrows drawn in. “It can always get worse. But Asta… what is troubling you?”

“Just…” Asta hesitated. “No, it’s too farfetched. Nevermind.”

“Not as farfetched as some of the things I just read, and those apparently are fact,” Leliana promised. “Please, share? You look…” the Divine exchanged a look with Petri.

“Disturbed,” Petri supplied generously.

“I just wondered,” Asta began slowly, “if the Evanuris were truly Dreamers - all of them - and they are all together in one place, and Dreamers can control the Fade, shape it to their whims, then…” her words trailed off.

“Go on,” Petri prodded after a moment.

“…then who is to say that this is not the Dream, and the Fade is the only reality?” Asta finished in a rush. “What if the reason Solas created the Veil wasn’t so much to trap the Evanuris in their dreams, but to trap them in reality, and offer the rest of us a better option? He’s said so many times that it wasn’t supposed to be this way! What if…”

Leliana had gone pale. “But that’s impossible,” she gasped, “why would he have… and the Chant says…”

“Solas was always far more comfortable in the Fade than… interacting with the rest of us,” Asta pointed out, almost too quietly to hear. “The stories of Fen’Harel, both the ancient ones that depict him as a hero, and those that indicate he is something more… sinister all show him as a calculating, planning sort. He argued many times that the Fade was just as real as anything we called being awake. What if we‘re the echo… what if the elves are right, and the Evanuris are the Creators…”

“Stop,” Leliana reached over and grabbed Asta’s shaking hand, holding it with both of hers. Her book fell on the floor, unobserved. “Even if it is true, Asta, you can’t worry about it. One thing at a time.”

“But if that is the truth we’re pursuing,” Asta countered, pale and removing her hand from Leliana’s to retrieve her source from the floor, “then doesn’t everyone deserve to know… the implications…”

“You don’t know that it is true,” Leliana reminded her. “Fact, Inquisitor. Evidence. Use your logic, not your intuition on this matter.”

Asta raised her eyes to Petri, only to find him just as shaken as she was. “It would explain many things,” Petri managed, in a choked voice.  "Such as why the Fade reflects the world around it, and why Dreamers claim that they need to travel to experience more of it."

Asta laughed, a little hysterically, “Hawke once told me that when you try to change things, things change. If that’s the case… this certainly qualifies. He has to tear down the Veil - not to reshape the real world, but to destroy the shadow.” She choked, "Solas often tried to tell me that what he saw in the Fade was just as real as... here.  'They are both real,' he said."

“I suggest you not tell the Iron Bull,” Leliana tried for levity. “I imagine the very idea will send him over the edge.”

“It would send all of us over the edge,” Asta realized. “Sera would panic, Cassandra would take it as a personal insult. Cullen would go mad. Only the mages could cope with this world being torn away…” her words trailed off again. “Is that what Solas meant?” She was still facing Petri. “That only the mages will survive? What about the rest of us, if we can’t draw on… that power? Are we doomed to disappear at best? What about elves that don‘t have magical ability?  What about the misguided who refuse to admit that the Fade holds anything but demons?  That it contains something besides horrors, but also beauty?  If what you see in the Fade is what you expect - Andraste's Tits, Leliana, the Chantry has spent nearly a thousand years convincing us all to fear the Fade!  How do you even counter such a deeply held belief?!”

“This theory - where would you even find evidence to support such a thing?  Do we start by trying to prove ourselves right or wrong?”  Petri fumbled for his control and logic.  "There must be a fallacy in there somewhere."

“We start at the beginning,” Asta tried to rise, but her knees wouldn’t lift her. “With the Evanuris, and what we know of Arlathan and Elvhenan. Petri… would you please leave Pippa’s… education to Rhys for a time, while we… investigate this possibility?”

“Of course,” Petri rolled his current scroll closed. “If I may be so bold… I would like to recruit help from some of the other mages, and perhaps some of the Tranquil, if any are willing.”

“On a limited basis only,” Asta ordered. “I don’t want to cause panic. Keep the research terms general, if you can. Share our suspicions only with those that you must. Andraste‘s Mercy, the Tranquil… what will the Veil falling do to them?!” Petri merely nodded, lips pinched. “Leliana, I know I can count on your discretion,” Asta continued, trying to breathe.

“I think you’re wrong,” Leliana contradicted lightly. “I heard your account of the physical Fade, remember. What of the magisters? Are you saying that they broke into, not the Golden City, but into _reality_ and corrupted it…”

“With blood magic,” Asta whispered. “It’s well documented that the more magical the blood, the more… strength could be drawn from it. All those tiles I’ve collected and hung around Skyhold - one of them shows Qunari being sacrificed by Tevinter mages. Saarabas are powerful, if usually untrained. Solas doesn’t practice blood magic - if I trust his word - so the power from the orb that he used to lock away the Evanuris would have been… pure, for lack of a more precise word. Thalsian indicated he learned blood magic from Dumat himself. The First Blight crippled the Dreamers - why? Because of the corruption? Because of what haunted the Fade after the Magisters gained access?” Asta finally stood and paced, her hand expostulating her points. “Demons hurt Dreamers. We know that from Ameridan. What if… what if the Blight corrupts the spirits of the Fade, just as it corrupts… what we call the living.” Her eyes were wild and frightened as she met Leliana and Petri’s eyes. “Oh, Maker,” she stammered. “The Dreamers couldn’t hear their gods. Dreamers only remained amongst the Dalish because Mythal - and Fen’Harel - were still there to speak to them. It wasn’t that the ability wasn’t there… it was because there was no one left to talk to! The Maker expelled the old gods, expelled the magisters from the Fade… he kicked them out of the real world, and left the Dreamers with hardly any one to talk to.  Solas was horrified with what the Wardens were attempting, because...” Asta covered her mouth. “The Maker is Fen’Harel, who turned his face away.” Her legs gave out, moments before Petri could reach her, the Divine a step behind. “Is this the world I’m raising my children in? A mockery, a shadow of the truth?” She whispered, eyes blank. “Do they even exist?  Do any of us?”

“Stop!” Leliana demanded, grabbing Asta's left arm firmly. “You are blowing it all out of proportion, Inquisitor!”

“Am I?” Asta’s eyes focused, with difficulty. “Am I, Most Holy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Leliana grasped her hand, squeezed too tightly, and Asta winced. “You feel that? It is _real_ , Asta. You feel pain, and pleasure, and happiness, and sorrow. Your children will feel the same. They are real, not the hazy dreams of a group of mages. We are all real. And remind me never to debate philosophy with you.”

“Right,” Asta whispered, slightly more grounded, and hesitated, “But did you know that Cole told me once that he only felt like he was real, here, when he was helping? What would he have done, if I had taken him into the Fade at Adamant?  And Solas claimed that all the elves were supposed to be _more…_ ”

“Cole is an exception, not the rule!” Leliana insisted. “You’ve got to see that!” She stood. “I’m calling Ellendra, Inquisitor. You are… overwrought. Perhaps the baby has upset your humors…”

“This isn’t because I’m pregnant,” Asta snarled immediately, snapped back into herself. “How dare you suggest…”

Leliana looked pleased, “Better, Inquisitor,” she smirked, albeit weakly. “More like yourself. Pull yourself together, please. Your daughter needs you, and your son will, before long.” She reached out her hand, and Asta took it, allowing herself to be pulled up easily. “They will need their mother, and Thedas needs the Inquisitor and all her wild theories.” She paused, “But I am going to excuse myself, and make my way back to Val Royeaux sooner, rather than later. If I am wrong, and you are right…”

“If I am right, I will shake the foundations of the world, just as Thom always claimed I could,” Asta agreed, but far less shakily. “And Andrastians the world over will need their Divine, in the days to come.”

“I find the need to chant, myself, actually,” Petri admitted, with a wobbly smile. “Wrong Divine or not. But Inquisitor, if, as Cullen says, Fen'Harel wants Pippa to help reshape the world…”

Asta blinked, “Then he needs her without corruption,” she breathed. “Maker’s Breath…” she grasped the Divine’s sleeve. “Leliana, where is Cole? In Denerim, you said?”

“Last I heard,” Leliana smiled. “I’ll drop a word to Harding. I think the Rest has been without music for long enough, don’t you?” She patted Asta’s hand. “I’ll see what I can do, to speed his journey, Inquisitor. I’ll take my leave.”

“Why do you need this Cole?” Petri asked slowly, as the Divine left the room.

“Because Cole was Compassion, until he crossed the Veil,” Asta explained quietly, her face hopeful. “And because… because once he told me this was where things could change,” the words rushed out in a single breath.  "There's something like that in the Chant as well."

“Kaffas,” Petri summed up. “If this is the only place where things can change…”

“Then what is real?” Asta’s mouth drew up slightly, and her brow furrowed. “But maybe Cole can help us figure it out. In the meantime, I think Rhys may need to talk to Pippa‘s friends again.  They may be our only direct source of information.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I'm going all Plato on Thedas. Well, sort of, anyway. It's just a theory!


	47. Worlds on Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I have been informed that Asta's leaps in logic were too great for anyone who is not Petri to follow her, I am posting an extra chapter this week (Yay for the week from hell being over!) that contains what might be a better explanation, courtesy of Bull.
> 
> You haven't lived until you've had Bull explain Plato in your head, by the way.
> 
> It's kind of long, and gets sort of deep. (It's Bull - we all know he has depths that Dorian has just begun to explore.) Lots of quotes from the Chant of Light. And there's some love poetry in there by someone that a few of you might recognize. But hopefully it helps. 
> 
> If it doesn't, I will edit both chapters thoroughly and try to do a better job. Thank you all for your patience, and a special thank you to Scorpion6112 who admitted to confusion. If nobody says anything I can't do better!

“What do you mean, you won’t?” Asta folded her arms across her chest.

“I think you should ask Pippa,” Rhys sighed, and scratched under his beard. “After the last time, Inquisitor, I need to express to you the importance of ethics as they relate to Dreamers. I don’t think I should interfere in Mistress Pippa’s dreams without her express permission, or in the case of an emergency. A dream in the Fade is an intensely personal reflection of ourselves and even more so for those that dream so clearly without the use of lyrium…”

“This is important, Enchanter Rhys,” Asta stressed. “We need to understand the nature of Veil and the nature of the Fade. If everything we know isn’t real, if we‘re somehow trapped in a dream not of our own making…” Cullen looked vaguely confused, and opened his mouth to inquire further, but wasn't able to get a word in edgewise.

Rhys hemmed, “While that’s a fascinating theory, Inquisitor, I’m afraid I can think of at least three arguments against it. First is the nature of the Fade itself. In all my interactions with it…”

_“Excellent_ ,” Asta hissed. “Write them down. Debate them with me later, please. Even better, find Petri and hash it out with him, in depth. But Rhys, somebody has to ask, and you know Pippa has trouble explaining given her youth and limited understanding! We need an adult to interface with her friends to gain a level of clarity!”

“I have to agree with Enchanter Rhys,” Cullen broke in, abandoning the question of what the Void his wife was talking about in favor of the actual debate at hand. “It’s an invasion of Pippa’s privacy. Even if she wishes to help, which she does, no one should be subject to someone breaking into their private slumber. No one has complete control of all their dreams, after all. And it’s pointless, in any case.  The spirits won't know, any more than we do.”

“I can’t believe you’re siding with him,” Asta pouted angrily at her husband.

“I merely think it changes nothing,” Cullen tried to explain, lifting a hand as if to calm her. “Love…”

Asta frowned deeper, and then closed her eyes. “I see. You think that we can’t change anything - whatever Cole says.”

“Wait for Cole,” Rhys encouraged, “Ask him more questions, see if he can explain further the changeability of the Fade versus our world. Perhaps between him and Pippa we can develop a further understanding without having to go into the Fade…"

Cullen interrupted again, "It‘s a dangerous ritual, Asta. Not one to be undertaken on a whim.”

“We don’t have time,” Asta stressed, slamming her hand down on the war table, and then wincing. “Oh…” the hand went up to her stomach immediately. “Shit,” she breathed. “That was a hard one.” Cullen took two steps forward, hands raised as if to support her. “I’m all right,” she said through her teeth. “So you are refusing on ethical grounds, Enchanter?” Her clipped tone said she was far from mollified.

“I am,” Rhys answered. “I am not comfortable. I suspect you will not find many mages who would be, and if they are, I would suggest that you have them investigated thoroughly, as they might not be the sort you would like playing around in your daughter‘s dreams. These ethics need clear delineation now, before we cross fine lines that will lead to abuses down the line.” Despite his detached words, he watched her, with a level of concern. “Do you need assistance, Inquisitor?”

“We will table it, for now,” Asta clenched out the words, still holding her side. “Thank you for your honesty, I suppose,” she arched, moving her hand backwards to the small of her back. “Oh, that’s…”

“You need to lie down,” Cullen worried. “It’s too early…” he wrapped his arm around her waist and supported her easily. “I’ll help you upstairs, love.”

“I’m fine,” but Asta’s voice sounded weak.

Rhys hesitated, “If I may assist?”

“Not now,” Asta glared at him. “I’m rather angry at you, Enchanter. I don’t see you as being anything but an obstructionist. This is possibly the most important issue I’ve dealt with in my time as Inquisitor. It questions the most fundamental philosophy of life itself! And you won’t help!”

“Not in that way,” Rhys said quietly, his face firm.

“Not helpful,” Asta spat.

“How long have you been having these pains?” Cullen broke in.

“It doesn’t matter,” Asta waved her hand.

“It’s the only thing that matters,” Cullen contradicted. “If…”

“I’m not in labor. There’s no pattern, and up til now, no pain,” Asta snarled. “I’m merely… in a foul temper. Leave me alone.” Rhys’ eyebrows lifted incredulously. “What, is the Inquisitor not allowed to have a bad mood?” She shook off Cullen’s arm. “I will go lay down. Apparently I am not going to be allowed to do my job, either.” She marched out of the war room and let the door slam behind her.

“Does she often get like that?” Rhys asked Cullen quietly.

“Hardly ever,” Cullen admitted with a tone of worry.

“Be ready, then,” Rhys warned him. “I suspect that she’s having those pains a lot more often than she is willing to admit.” Their eyes met with perfect understanding. “Try to get her to rest. Try to keep her calm. You need another two weeks, at least, before I would be comfortable with her delivering.”

“I can always try,” Cullen observed dryly. Bull grunted, from his silent watchfulness by the windows. “Now, then, do either of you understand at all what she’s talking about? Why has she suddenly become so concerned with the nature of the Fade?”

“It’s a theory,” grunted Bull. “We had to learn about it in the Qun, while they were trying to determine who was going the priest route. I failed pretty quick, halfway on purpose. Didn‘t want to spend my life thinking, you know? Bet that’s where the Boss heard it too - she was studying the Qun in Kirkwall for a couple years, right? Under that bitch that got the Saarebas killed - what was her name, Petrice?”

“What kind of theory?” Cullen asked, slowly. “Why would she suddenly suspect Thedas isn’t real?”

Bull shrugged, “Well, it’s like this - if I’m holding a mug in front of a candle, and the mug casts a shadow, which is real?”

“The mug,” Cullen answered quickly.

“They’re both real,” Rhys countered, with a smile. “You can’t say the shadow doesn’t exist, Ser Cullen.”

“Well, no,” Cullen said slowly, “But the shadow wouldn’t exist without the mug…”

“Or the shadow without the candle,” Rhys pointed out easily.  "They are dependent on each other.  The only ones that exist independently, however, are the mug and the candle."

Bull snorted, “Yeah, you two already make more sense than half the shit I learned from my Tama. Tons about caves and shadows, and failures to recognize cultures outside our own. Crazy shit that has no real purpose. Load of crap. Anyways, Boss must be playing with the idea that the Fade existed first. From what we saw in the Crossroads, I can buy that. The Elvhen were around for a long-ass time, after all, and the Archivists were pretty open with the fact that their library was destroyed by a war. So…” Bull thought for a minute, and then reached up and scratched around one of his horns. “So Boss is thinking that the Evanuris started dreaming, that they were ‘Creators’ of our world on some fucked up level after all. Either they Dreamed up Thedas, or maybe Solas did, who fucking cares, and now she’s all confused about what’s real. It’s a whole lot of something, that’s for sure. Boss doesn‘t like being lied to, so to start thinking that the world she gave her left arm to save is possibly imaginary and gonna go up in smoke because a bald elf thinks he knows best? That‘s gotta suck.”

“She’s gone mad?” Cullen said slowly, a worried line appearing between his brows, and fighting off a wellspring of panic.

“Nah, she’s just thinking too much,” Bull uncrossed his arms and pushed himself off the wall. “Not crazy. Just anxious. But none of it’s new, you know? The Qun scholar that thought about all this shit died ages ago. But the Qun never thought about going directly to the demons to ask them questions. Now that‘s one messed up idea. Glad you‘re not going there,” he told Rhys bluntly. “Little Boss talks to them too much anyway,” Bull grunted.  "Needs more time with kids her own age."

“I’m more worried about the influence another mage would have on their possible corruption,” Rhys admitted. “And the issues of invading her privacy bother me a great deal, like I said.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Bull weighed him carefully, and then transferred his gaze to Cullen. “But if I know the Boss, she’s probably making some correllation between the Chant, and it’s got her shook up even further. She wouldn’t be this freaked out, otherwise. Can you think of anything?”

Cullen frowned, thinking, “There are a few sections in Andraste. ‘World fell away then, misty in mem‘ry / ‘Cross Veil and into the valley of dreams / A vision of all worlds, waking and slumb‘ring, / Spirit and mortal to me appeared. / ‘Look to My work,’ said the Voice of Creation. / ‘See what My children in arrogance wrought…”

Rhys nearly choked, “You know all of that by _heart?_ And I thought Evangeline knew the Chant…”

Cullen crossed his arms defensively and shifted his weight to his left hip. “It’s Templar training. I don’t know as much as a Chanter, but I find the imagery and cadence in Andraste soothing.”

“Right,” Bull grunted. “Soothing. So anyway, Boss knows this stuff. Can‘t help it, spending as much time in the Chantry as she did. Know she thinks that all legends, however screwed up, are based in truth. So she‘s constantly sifting through the words, looking for what‘s real. And now she thinks she‘s onto something, but it‘s the opposite of ‘soothing‘, it‘s really fucked up. Ain‘t there a ton of stuff about the Maker‘s children living in shadow, Cullen?”

“Well, yes,” Cullen admitted slowly. “There is, but…”

“And the whole fucking book is called the Chant of _Light_ , meaning that something is between the shadow and the Light in order to cast it in the first place,” Bull emphasized. “So no wonder that Boss is shaky. I’m kinda surprised she didn’t put two and two together to get six before this, thinking about it.”

“I don’t know much about the Chant,” Rhys began, “But isn’t there a part in Threnodies where the Maker takes a part of the Fade’s living flesh and places it apart from the spirits?”

Cullen paled, but he began to quote again, “Verse 5.  He ‘took from the Fade / A measure of its living flesh / And placed it apart from the Spirits, / and spoke to it, saying: / Here, I decree / Opposition in all things: / For earth, sky / For winter, summer / For darkness, Light. / By My Will alone is Balance sundered / And the world given new life.’” He ended in a whisper.

“Well, shit,” Bull grunted, impressed. “Maybe Boss is onto something, then?”

“You don’t believe in Andraste, Bull,” Cullen pointed out.

“I read, though,” Bull replied bluntly. “By my way of thinking, some of that prophecy of Drakon’s has already taken place.” The one-eyed man stared down Cullen with a face cold and thoughtful. “I’m not saying Andraste’s by the Maker’s side. Seems to me she’s too fucking good for him, she deserved somebody better, the way she kicked ass.  Too bad she had such bad taste.  But I’ve seen Seers at work in Rivain. They can tell you some spooky shit. Kind of like Cole. Or your daughter, for that matter. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Andraste was one of them, and the story got twisted along the way. People need crap to believe in.”

Cullen sighed. “Perhaps I’d better find my wife. See if she‘s up to explaining.”

“Good plan,” Bull said, dead serious.

“Try to get her to lay down?” Rhys instructed, with what sounded like an exasperated sigh.

“I can always try,” Cullen managed, and shut the door to the War Room unusually quietly.

He followed Asta up to their room, debating internally about what Bull had told him.

“Are you here to try to reason with me?” Asta grumbled from the bed, her back to him. “Or to determine whether or not I’ve gone mad?”

“Not at all,” Cullen assured her, taking off his armor and preparing to relax next to her.

“Are you here to make sure I follow the healer’s orders?” Her tone was extremely sarcastic.

“No, I just need a nap. My last meeting left me with a headache,” Cullen pointed out, not without his version of dry humor.

“The Inquisitor being a bit of a hard-ass, is she?” Asta asked after a minute, with a smaller voice.

“A bit,” Cullen sighed, and stretched out beside her, not touching. “But she’s only frustrated. It can’t be easy, doing what she does. Especially when no one understands exactly what she’s driving at. Who am I to argue when it puts her in a foul mood?”

Asta huffed irritably. “Trying to butter me up?”

“No, I’m trying to relax,” Cullen grumbled, arm over his eyes. “I’m worried about my wife, who apparently is having pains without telling me. I’m worried about my son being born too early. I’m worried about my daughter’s future. I’m worried about the very nature of the world, thanks to my brilliant wife who reads too much. I’m fucking worried about everything, my head is pounding, and my bones are aching.” His words were clipped and precise. “I imagine that my wife feels the same way, though maybe without the headache.”

“Perhaps with the headache,” Asta admitted after a moment. “She might be sorry, actually. She shouldn’t have treated Rhys like that, or Pippa - as if her daughter’s dreams were suitable for public viewing and her friends were tools to use. If spirits are people, they shouldn’t be used at all. She shouldn’t have yelled at her husband, or shook off his efforts to help her… she may be extremely tired of being useless, but she shouldn’t take it out on the people around her.”

“On that we agree,” Cullen sighed, shifting his shoulders against the bed to attempt to relieve the tension shooting up into his skull. “Not she is useless, or even that spirits are people, but that she should attempt to have some self-control so that she doesn‘t alienate the people that are just trying to help her.”

Asta was silent for a few moments, her body shuddering, and he heard a small sniffle before he realized she was crying.

“Asta, I didn’t mean…” he sighed, and rolled over, to pull her towards him. “Come here, love.”

“I’m a horrible Inquisitor,” Asta sniffed. “I should have just resigned when I let myself be exiled. Loranil did so much better than me while I was gone. He even managed to keep peace between the mage factions. That isolationist mage has holed himself up again in walls of ice - but this time right outside of the stables. Claims he’s making a point. I can’t do anything except worry about Solas, of all the things to rob me of my sleep. And then I have to start worrying whether or not the world we live in actually exists physically. I’m going to make myself go into labor early. I’m a rotten mother.”

“You’re not a rotten mother,” Cullen murmured. “You just have a lot of responsibility, and you should be thinking about Fen’Harel. You tend to be right about things - and if you are right about this, love, we should all be worried.”

“Then why aren’t you?” Asta whispered. “Why are you so calm?”

“Because I’ve been through worse,” Cullen nearly laughed, albeit a little bitterly. “There have been times in my life where ceasing to exist would have been preferable to continuing to fight.” He paused, only realizing how it sounded, when Asta made a worried noise. “In Kinloch Hold during Uldred‘s rebellion? Absolutely. But I had no way of acting on it. And I was sent to Greenfell before I could. During the worst days in Kirkwall, when I woke up and realized how far Meredith had gone and how far I would have to go to redeem myself? Not so much. Then I had the choice, to let myself fall or not, and I chose to live and fight, do try to do better. So I have to believe that ‘Nothing He has wrought will be lost,’” he quoted.

“I wish I could believe,” Asta flopped over ungracefully and embraced him. “I’ve nothing to comfort me like that. I can’t even believe in the Maker any longer. Once I thought someone was out there, someone that built this world on purpose, with thought and deliberation and planning, and now… now there’s just _nothing_. I sympathize with Sera, fearing nothingness. The Void is a terrible thing. I wish I could believe in something again - someone other than an Elvhen mage who makes really bad choices.”

“Then I’ll believe it for both of us,” Cullen promised lowly. “I can‘t believe that Solas is the Maker, Asta. The idea is ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry that I do,” Asta held him tighter, curled against him.

“I know,” Cullen nearly laughed again at the absurd apology. “But it’s Rhys you should apologize to. He didn’t deserve so see that side of you.”

“I will. Quite thoroughly.  I'll admit he was right and everything. You don’t think I‘ve hurt Ian, do you?”

“He’s a Rutherford,” Cullen lifted his eyebrow, “I seriously doubt a lost temper is enough to cause any lasting harm, as long as we can keep him where he is for a few more weeks.” He sighed, “Though hopefully he takes after the ‘Modest in Temper’ part of your family creed, unlike his mother.”

“Pippa said he was going to be loud,” Asta laughed, despite herself. “If she was being literal, I would say we don’t have much chance of that, Cullen.” She looked a little puzzled, “Come to think of it, it’s a pretty strange family motto. I don’t know a single relative that it suited. Perhaps whoever adopted it used it as a goal instead of a family descriptor?”

“That is not reassuring,” Cullen muttered, and kissed her forehead. “But I suspect we’ll survive even a son of yours.”

“Of mine, as if you didn’t have something to do with it,” Asta snorted. “We should all be hoping he takes after nice, stable Branson, with no greater goal in life than to settle down and be a carpenter and fill his house with random collectibles.”

“Maker preserve us, what are the odds?” Cullen laughed, and then winced when the pain in his head increased. “Ugh. My head doesn‘t like laughter right now, Asta.”

“Shhh,” Asta soothed, and arranged herself to rub out the tension in his forehead. “We’ll rest, love. Close your eyes.”

***

Asta fidgeted on her sofa, putting her legs up one minute, and down the next, flipping though her chosen reading material absent-mindedly, and then shutting the book emphatically. Her restlessness was designed to draw attention.

“Are you going to talk about it?” Cullen asked from the bed, where he was reading yet another letter, with a small smile on his face tilting up the corner of his mouth. “Or just squirm until I ask?”

“It will give you a headache,” Asta sighed. “I’m probably so wrong that they’ll sing songs about me. “’The Inquisitor who asked the wrong questions’ - that’s what they’ll call me.” Cullen chuckled, hardly paying attention. “But I think I have to, to sort out my thoughts,” she continued more softly. “Cullen…” her husband looked up, and seeing the frown on her face, echoed the look with his own. “What would you say if I told you that I’m not sure the world is real?”

Cullen blinked, and then smiled, relieved that she was finally going to confide in him fully, “I would say that you’ve been out in the sun too long.”

“I’m serious,” Asta leaned forward, forgetting her stomach was in the way and promptly leaned back when her son reminded her that it wasn’t comfortable. “I’ve been reading about Somniari, and if the Evanuris were all Dreamers, and the old gods were as well, then I have reason to believe that Fen’Harel shut them away in order to preserve the world. The Evanuris had already destroyed what we call the Fade, with their internal wars, and I think… I think it’s possible that was the only thing that was real. Not… us. We‘re a reflection, or a shadow.”

Cullen’s eyebrows had slowly raised until his forehead wrinkled. “So Bull was right. You do think that Thedas, as we know it, is an elaborate dream, shaped by Dreamers?”

“When did you discuss this with Bull? And yes, possibly,” Asta confirmed. “And when the Veil comes down, Fen’Harel will reinstate… reality. It will override everything familiar.”

“You think we’ll disappear, because somehow we‘re just the product of a dream,” Cullen murmured, catching on, and then he laughed. “Love, you’ve had some crazy theories in your life, but this is right up there with that man who believes in the Moon Men.” He rose and went to his personal book shelf, only slightly smaller than Asta‘s, and scanned the shelves impatiently, smiling when he found what he was looking for. “Here it is,” he murmured, and came over to sit next to her on the sofa, lifting her feet and replacing them on his lap.

“What do you have there?” Asta asked, a little irritated that he wasn‘t taking her worries seriously.

“A book of poetry that Cassandra highly recommended some time ago,” Cullen flipped through the pages, after consulting the table of contents. “And less attitude, if you please, Inquisitor. My intent is to comfort you.” Asta raised one eyebrow, skeptical. “Shhh, and listen,” he smiled again, and squeezed her foot with one hand.

‘I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I

Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?

But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?

Or snorted we in the Seven Sleeper’s den?

‘Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.

If ever any beauty I did see,

Which I desired, and got, ‘twas but a dream of thee.’

 

“Cullen,” Asta began dryly, impatience in her tone, “I wasn‘t asking you to read me love poetry. I’m having an existential crisis the size of all Thedas. It‘s several steps above smutty literature, this crisis. I can‘t take it to the Randy Dowager.”

“Shh, Inquisitor,” Cullen laughed. “There is more.”

‘And now good-morrow to our waking souls,

Which watch not one another out of fear;

For love, all love of other sights controls,

And makes one little room an everywhere.

Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,

Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,

Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.’

 

“Cullen, that’s very pretty, and I can see why Cassandra likes it so much, I could even claim it to be sexy, a love so all encompassing that it blocks out all but the single room the lovers are in, but…” Asta’s forehead creased, “Worlds on worlds… but everyone has one, and is one. Who wrote this? A mage? How have I not read this?! Cass was holding out!” She reached for the book.

Cullen laughed, “Still more, my Inquisitor,” he tilted his half grin at her, and pulled the tome back so that she couldn’t reach it. “Let me finish, before you pick apart my taste in poetry?” Asta settled back.

‘My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,

And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;

Where can we find two better hemispheres,

Without sharp north, without declining west?

Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;

If our two loves be one, or thou and I

Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.’*

 

Cullen closed the book softly, and all that could be heard was Asta’s breathing.

She broke the silence at last, “He‘s saying… he‘s saying that his world is completed by his love, I suppose, and that because of that, they‘ll never die, or at least, live forever. They say that poets are the only true philosophers. With that poem, I can see why.”

“And lovers the true Dreamers,” Cullen agreed, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck. “If you are right, and the world as we know it will end when Solas destroys the Veil, whether or not we all truly exist physically or not - and I’m not sure it matters - well, you are my world, north, south, east, west and everything in between. I ask for nothing more than for this moment, for every moment, I can have with you.” He took her hand. “I’m not going to squander what time we have with fearing what might happen - because everything ends. Both dreams and nightmares. And neither should you.”

Asta dropped her feet off his lap and scooted around to curl up against him. “When did you get so wise, Cullen?”

“Merely by association, love,” he murmured, and kissed her head. “I was foolish, before I met you. I certainly read more dull books than my share. Not enough poetry.”

“Don’t blame it on me,” she nudged him. “But thank you. Read it again? After you tell me why Cassandra is giving you books of love poetry.”

Cullen chuckled, “One book. She told me that it was important to ‘keep things interesting’, and wouldn’t let me say no. And I‘ve been awake in the middle of the night more often again, lately. So… I‘ve been reading.”

“I must remember to thank her,” Asta amused voice was muffled against his shoulder. “Read another one?”

Cullen smirked, and flipped the page, all too willing to comply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The poem is John Donne's 'The Good-Morrow'. Yeah, I have this massive headcanon that in a Modern AU Cassandra's shelves are filled with him and Pablo Neruda and a little e.e. cummings. If you guys could only see my research notes for characters - Cass looks like something between my 17th century English lit course in college and pictures of hardcore LARPers. Nice of her to share with Cullen.
> 
> And of course, Bioware owns the Chant of Light. I just quote it.


	48. The Lighter Side of Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all the heavy stuff I thought it would nice to have an entire chapter of near fluff. Enjoy!

Sera eyeballed the little girl who had broken into her room in the tavern, the intermittent lock picking lessons from her Uncle Max being far more thorough than anyone had suspected. “So you’re the new creepy one?”

“I don’t think so,” Pippa countered, placing the halla statuette guiltily back into its place on the shelves that held Sera‘s ‘stuff’. “I wasn’t gonna take anything, I swear. I just wondered what was in here, when I saw the pretty curtains, and thought I‘d let myself in before the Rest got busy. Is this your room? Why don‘t you stay in it?” She smiled shyly, one corner of her mouth turned up.

“Don’t you talk to demons?” Sera accused, ignoring the compliment.

“No, just my friends.”

Sera snorted, “Right. And your ‘friends’ are demons.”

“No more than yours,” Pippa stared down the elf woman almost bitterly.

Sera sized the child up. “Come on then. If you can pick a Fereldan lock, you’ve got potential. You’re not that creepy, I suppose. Least you don’t speak in riddles, like the _thing_. I’ll get something to eat and you can hang out with me on my roof until Widdle‘s done with her experiments. I think you need an eye kept on you. Spend too much time alone, am I right?”

Pippa hesitated, and then grinned. “I know where Cabot hides the cookie dough.”

Sera’s eyes lit up cautiously. “Your ‘friends’ tell you that?”

“Nope, I watched him hide it in the well out back, next to his still,” Pippa smiled wider, proud as punch. “He’s short, but still can’t see everywhere. I fit places.”

Sera nodded thoughtfully. “So, you get around, right? Will you help me figure out how to get into the armory? The new smiths are stingy with the arrows. They bar the door when they sleep.”

Pippa nodded eagerly. “You got to drop down over the battlements by your fingers, and land on the roof! Then you can - well, I can, anyway - slide in sideways through the window… I could hand out a quiver or four, I suppose, if you waited.”

“How in the fuck are you related to Quizzy?” Sera interrupted. “You’re not prissy at all! Your Mam must‘ve been normal! For a mage, anyway…” the elf’s words trailed off, as if she was remembering where the child came from, “and a noble. Huh. Why are you people?”

Pippa merely shrugged, and changed the subject, “I know where to get some spiky caterpillars. There will be cocoons soon, and they turn into moths, Minaeve says. She showed me pictures. Interested?”

Sera’s cackles rang through the Herald’s Rest, and even Bull looked up with alarm from the floor below. “Oh, I’ve got some Marcher nobs that need holies in their woolies. Where?!”

“Give me a cookie and I’ll show you,” Pippa smiled blandly.

Sera narrowed her eyes again. “Not going to tell you not to touch most of my stuff, but don’t break it, aye? Look in the little covered dish, if you like. I keep sweets in there, sometimes. But don’t touch the skull. Gives me the willies, but it helps me remember why. It‘s all good, innit?” She nodded at the window seat. “Park yourself. We got things to talk about.”

***

Cullen frowned at Hermes. “So it’s a no go, then? She won’t look at him?”

“Apparently not,” the kennelmaster sighed in disappointment. “I’ve given them every chance, and she’s been through two heats since our arrival, but she attacks every male that comes her way. She’s just not interested, I guess. Shame. Two of our breeding age females didn’t make the trip at all - had a reaction to whatever drug they were given to smuggle us on the ship. We needed this litter, and to have the chance to breed to a purebred Mabari…”

“Well, if she won’t have it, she won’t have it,” Cullen summed up. “You’ve obviously gotten pretty close here, Hermes, to breed dogs with such strong opinions.” He glanced down at Dane. “Sorry, Dane. I guess you aren’t her type.”

Dane whined, and tucked his tail between his legs.

“No need for that,” the kennelmaster attempted, hopefully, “lots of other bitches in the kennel, after all. One of them might…”

Dane growled, interrupting him.

“Like that, is it?” Cullen sighed, and rubbed his neck. “Come on, when a man is dumped, eventually they find their way to a tavern, and drown their sorrows. Cabot is bound to have something that you‘ll like. Perhaps a beef broth?”

Dane whined plaintively, and made to turn away.

“Don’t be like that,” Hermes knelt down and slapped the dog’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. “Come on. It’ll be fun!”

Dane turned back, eyes narrowed and then panted, half-heartedly.

“That‘s a boy,” Cullen encouraged.

Two hours later, Hermes and Cullen had four mugs between them of Fereldan Ale, and Dane was on his second bowl of broth, seated on the bench, with his bowl on the table, where he could lap at it as an equal. It was that kind of night.

“May I join in, or is this boy’s night out?” Asta’s voice asked, amused. “Are we celebrating something?”

“On the contrary,” Cullen sighed. “By all means, love, pull up a chair.” Asta complied, and sat down with her glass, watching both men and the dog curiously.

“Why the long faces?” She asked at last. Dane stared into his bowl.

“I just don’t understand it,” Hermes whined. “Back home, she seemed interested, enthusiastic, even.”

Dane barked twice and howled plaintively. Half the tavern turned to watch the dog in disbelief.

“So what went wrong?” Asta asked Dane sympathetically.

Dane put his head down, and covered his eyes with a paw.

“She changed her mind?” The dog whined. “No. She’s… homesick?” The dog whined. Asta stared at the two men, shrugging, and grasping at straws. “She prefers dogs with long hair?”

Dane uncovered his eyes and barked twice, angrily.

“Well, you don‘t need to be rude about it.” Asta cleared her throat. “Dane, would you like me to talk with her?”

Dane cocked his head, and whined, rather questioningly.

“Of course I would,” Asta assured him. “Sometimes, women just need a friend. If it hadn’t been for Dorian and Cassandra, I would have dumped Cullen a dozen times, at least. For a while there, he was the biggest grump every time I came back from a mission. It was a total turn off.” Cullen choked on his ale, and sputtered his protestations. “I can put in a good word, listen to what she has to say. How’s tomorrow, Hermes? I have at least a few hours free. Any reason I shouldn‘t pay her a visit?”

“None at all, Inquisitor,” Hermes looked vaguely hopeful. So did Dane. When Asta’s eyes fell on Cullen, however, she nearly giggled, seeing the worry in his eyes at her revelation.

“Don’t pin all your hopes on me, boys,” she sighed. “If the girl just isn’t feeling it, there’s not much I can do. Dane, I’ll find you afterwards. I would suggest a bath, and perhaps a nice collar, and maybe a small present would be good to have handy. Cullen - did the latest shipment of expensive Orlesian dog treats come in?” Asta cocked a grin at the hound, “I’m sure Dane wouldn’t mind sharing.”

The dog barked, enthusiastically.

The next day Asta, wearing her oldest pair of Druffalo hide boots, showed up at the kennel, determined not to feel like she was butting into someone’s private business. After all, her matchmaking hadn’t gone so well the last time. Minaeve and Petri were still managing to avoid speaking to one another outside of their research. It made meetings… awkward.

Hermes showed her to a large, commodious kennel, with grass and a flower patch. A longhaired female with a brindled face was curled up next to it, her face nearly buried in an late blooming aster. “Excuse me,” Asta began, and the dog lifted up her head, managing to look embarrassed. “My name is Asta. Dane hangs out with my husband…”

The dog huffed irritably and laid her head back down, nose buried in the flower, but a single eye watching Asta with suspicion.

“Yes, I see you know him,” Asta cleared her throat, and tried not to feel like an imbecile. “I don’t know if you realized, but Dane has… feelings for you. Strong feelings.”

The dog snorted, and the flower’s petals fluffed suddenly backwards.

“Of course you knew,” Asta smiled charmingly. “I was just wondering if we should tell him to give up.”

The dog whined in the back of her throat.

“I see,” Asta sighed. “Do you mind telling me if there’s… someone else? I think it would be easier if I give him a reason. He’s been hung up on you for a while, you see. I‘d like to give him closure.”

The dog growled, actually growled, and Asta felt all the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Oh!” Asta tried not to feel encouraged. “No one else, then.” She hesitated. “Is there another reason?”

The dog pulled herself up to her haunches, barking in a rapid beat. She snapped at the flowers in her kennel, and piled them in a massive heap. She howled, long and high, and then rolled in the flower pile absurdly. Asta watched the whole performance, blinking, and understanding completely.

“You mean he hasn’t even tried since he arrived?!” Asta was indignant. “Well, how dare he! He shouldn’t just expect to get lucky, just because a girl shows she’s interested up front instead of playing hard to get. What an arse!”

The dog barked emphatically, and hung her head, and whined again, very quietly.

“But you like him anyway,” Asta intuited. “That is… difficult. But still, you can’t just put out. It’s the principle of the thing. He was rude. You want to have fun with him, not just have his puppies.” Asta stroked her own stomach very lightly. “I think we understand each other, my friend,” she mused quietly, and then laughed. “What’s your name? When I chew Dane out for thoughtlessness it might be nice to refer to you by name.”

The dog rumbled, and looked vaguely embarrassed once more.

Asta cringed, “Oh, no name. I forgot, Mabari don’t receive names until they choose a master. That’s… completely unfair! What if you don’t want a master? Do you all just remain nameless for your entire life?!”

The dog barked, evidently in agreement.

“I mean, have you even been given an option?!” Asta’s nostrils flared. “Do they parade you around every so often and say ‘Look! These are decent people, why don’t you pick one?”

The dog let her whine turn into a bark.

“Well, I have a few words for Kennelmaster Hermes and my husband,” Asta fumed. “Care to come with? I bet those… men… are still hanging out, feeling sorry for themselves after they’ve mistreated such a beautiful girl who is just trying not to settle. I‘m sure some of your sisters were just fine with the arrangements made for them, but honestly! They could have asked!”

Even the dog sat back at that one, and whimpered.

“That’s ridiculous,” Asta summed up. “If you don’t stand up for what you want, then you’ll get no where. Trust me.” She clenched her teeth together. “If you don’t feel comfortable coming along, that’s fine…”

The dog barked and put her paw in the air. Asta took it, and shook it, gladly.

“Right, let’s let them have it,” Asta grinned, the wicked smile pulling across her face like a mask. “Heads up. We’re not slinking in there like we’ve done something wrong.” She marched back across the yard, half drifted over with snow already and spotted Cullen, with Dane hanging back behind him, awkwardly. “Cullen,” she started, “I have a bone to pick with you. We both do.”

“What?” Cullen looked at his wife, and then at her follower, surprised. “Did you discover the issue?”

“Oh yes,” Asta folded her arms. “The issue is that she’s an individual. She doesn’t just want to roll over and have some puppies.” The dog behind her barked emphatically. “She’d prefer to feel a real connection. She started to feel like she had that with Dane, when they were both back in Minrathous. He would play with her…” Asta blushed slightly, “Not like that. You know what I mean. They were having fun. She was having fun. She gets moved to Skyhold, Dane shows up again and just… expects everything! She’s not just a potential mother! She’s a warrior! She‘s death on four paws!”

The female dog punctuated Asta’s statements with barks and Dane’s ears very slowly drooped, and then raised again.

“She wants a challenge! She wants…” Asta looked down at the dog slightly surprised. “My dear, you didn’t get a chance to meet Cassandra when you went through Kirkwall, did you?”

The bitch tilted her head in inquiry.

“Too bad, I think you would have appreciated each other,” Asta noted, and then continued. “She wants romance, Dane.” She was fully addressing the other dog now. “You have spent the last few months insulting her intelligence. This lovely creature has been belittled since her arrival in the South. She’s more than a dog, and both you,” Asta glared at Cullen, “As a Fereldan, and you,” Asta transferred her eyes to the Kennelmaster, “As a professional, should have realized that not every dog is the same.” Asta sighed. “We are going for a walk. You three need to figure it out before we get back. Dane, I‘m going to requisition your entire store of treats. This fine lady deserves something special. Did you even realize how miserable you were making her? She was dreading your visits!”

Dane whined, and tucked his tail between his legs in dejection.

“You should feel terrible,” Asta replied mercilessly. “You’re better than that, Dane. I expected better.” The two marched out of the kennel, without looking back.

That evening, Cullen slunk into their rooms cautiously, Dane at his heels. “Should we be sleeping in the kennel?” he asked quietly, of his wife, who had a book propped up on her belly and knees while lying in bed.

“I did think about having her sleep up here, so that you two could switch places,” Asta narrowed her eyes at Dane in particular. “Dane, did you even bother to get to know her? You were an ass! She’s sweet and sensitive and you’ve hurt her horribly, trying to be all dominant and confident. Shape up. It might be too late.” The dog slunk over to his fluffy cushion and hid his face.

“Am I in trouble as well?” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t know, are you?” Asta asked, eyes back on her book. Cullen winced.

“I gave him the advice to be confident,” Cullen admitted. “Back in Kirkwall, actually.”

“Cullen,” Asta looked at the ceiling. “Confidence is great, up to a point. Really. It definitely works for the sort of people that Bull attracts. But I love that you can’t quite pull it together around me. It makes me feel…” Asta fumbled for a word, “desirable. Confidence doesn’t work on every woman. If you had strolled up to me and tried to sweet-talk me right off the bat, like Petri did, I would only have felt…”

“Uncomfortable,” Cullen put two and two together. “You felt uncomfortable.”

“Or like you were making fun of me. And it’s worse for her,” Asta explained. “She knows she’s prime breeding stock. She’s gorgeous and strong. Having puppies is expected of her. And she likes Dane, too, for some unfathomable reason, despite his abominable behavior.” The dog perked his ears up. “That made it worse, when he was being such a asshole. But while her sisters might not mind their fate, she… wants something different than being bred to the finest specimen the Kennelmaster can find. She knows she’s worthy of more. It’s just taken too long for anyone else to see it,” Asta sighed in the dog‘s general direction. “Dane needs to find his manners. Spend some time getting to know her. Howl at the moon together. Dig some holes. Pick her flowers - she has a whole patch in her kennel, but go out of your way to find new ones for her. Share treats and toys and fun. I‘m not saying it will work in the long run, but she‘d rather have a friend than a mate right now. You have to respect that, going in.”

Cullen sat down on the bed. “Have I been… less than respectful?”

“What?” Asta looked up, eyes wide. “Of course not. Did you think… this is merely about the dog! I wanted to have your baby, Cullen. I would have said no, otherwise. Mind you, I’m not sure I ever want to go through this misery ever again - but it was still my choice.” She smiled, slowly, “No, I knew when I met you that I definitely wanted to be more than your friend. I‘m just lucky that it worked out.”

Cullen leaned forward, “I think I’m the lucky one.”

“And there you go, being all smooth,” Asta laughed, and finally set down her book. Dane grumbled, seeing where this conversation was heading, and headed back for the stairs, scratched at the lever, and let himself into Pippa’s room. “Proving me wrong about the confidence, Ser Knight?”

“No,” Cullen admitted bashfully. “I never even thought…”

“Shh,” Asta placed her finger on his mouth. “I have nearly everything I want, Cullen. You’ve seen to that.” Cullen brightened slightly. “And in a few short weeks, I’ll have everything. You?”

“I have things I never even dreamed I wanted. An embarrassment of riches,” Cullen agreed, with a low laugh.

“Nothing to worry about, then,” Asta smiled. “Now, get up here. Let’s not waste the opportunity of being alone.”

“I can do that.”

 


	49. Marvel At Perfection

“Follow me?” Cullen whispered in Asta’s ear, interrupting her polite monitoring of the mage representatives’ bickering. At least there hadn’t been any ice walls erected by the isolationists today, and the lucrosians weren‘t bothering the increasingly impatient merchants, either.

“Always,” Asta murmured back and excused herself gently, following her knight out of the Great Hall and into the Solarium. “Maker, thank you, Cullen,” she laughed. “Loranil must have the patience of a saint to have dealt with this for so long without complaining. No wonder he took off for Kirkwall as soon as I returned - hardly a single mage in Kirkwall, after all. He should be the Herald of Andraste, not me.” She followed him out, and through his old office, thankfully empty of Rylen’s presence, and then onto the battlements. “Where are you taking me?”

He reached out his hand, and she grasped it. “You need a break,” he laughed, remembering how many times she had said that to him, and how many times he had realized, however belatedly, that she was right, with an air of vague surprise. “So… I’m borrowing you this time.” He pulled her in, and let her face out to the Frostbacks.

Asta chuckled and leaned back against him. “I needed this…” she admitted, letting the breeze blow her hair - too long again - out of her face. “Oh…” her words trailed off, as she stared into the distance, her hand tightening in Cullen’s abruptly, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“More than ever,” Cullen agreed, looking at her. Asta turned in his arms and lifted her face for a kiss. He lowered his hands to her hips and leaned down to meet her eagerly, only to have her miss his lips entirely, bashing her forehead into his chin as she looked down. “Ow, Asta, what…”

“Shit.” Asta was staring down, at the slow puddle flooding her feet. “Cullen… I think…” She lifted her face up to him. “I think my water broke? Unless I just wet myself on the battlements. If so… I think I can upgrade my most embarrassing moment,” she joked feebly. “This is infinitely worse than breaking that man’s nose at Great-Aunt Lucille’s Summer Ball. Even without the bloodstains on my gloves for the rest of the evening.”

“Oh!” Cullen blew out a brief breath, contained and controlled, even as his heart raced. “Right. Let’s get Ellendra…” he stared around for a runner, but for once they were completely alone, not even a guard in sight. “Damn it, where’s a runner when you need one?” he cursed. “Rylen’s not even in his bloody office, the lazy lout, probably bothering Josie… can you walk?”

Asta dissolved into snorts of laughter, “I’m going to have to, unless I‘m going to have this baby on the battlements of Skyhold. Might be chilly, considering.” Cullen started walking her slowly, trying to take her weight. “It’s all right, Cullen!” She batted his other hand away. “My legs aren’t broken!”

“Forgive me for wanting to help,” Cullen grunted, and held the door open, spotting a runner at last when they reached Rylen‘s office, delivering a sheaf of messages. “You there! Go fetch Ellendra! Tell her the Inquisitor’s water has broken, and that we’re headed to her rooms!”

“At your order!” The runner saluted, and ran off, appropriately enough. Cullen walked Asta over to the bridge gently, before Asta’s knees buckled and she gasped, groaning into the sudden wave of cramping in her lower back. He caught her before she could fall, his arm under hers enough to prevent her from giving away.

“Damn,” she panted when it finished. “Cullen… I think that was a real one.”

“Let’s keep walking,” he faced her back towards the Solarium, and eased her along. “You’re doing great…”

“I’m only walking,” Asta observed. “And leaking, of course. Neither takes talent or stamina. Oh, Fucking Maker, Cullen, I’m going to have to walk through the entire Great Hall like this! We had a contingent of Northern Orlesians come through yesterday!” She faced him, nearly panicking in an instant, and grabbing the collar of his coat in her desperation. “Go clear the Great Hall!”

“I‘m not going to leave you… and how am I supposed to…”

“DO IT!” Asta ordered, and started groaning again, grabbing him before he could turn to obey, and panting through her pain, even while she realized there was another option. “Helisma!”

“Inquisitor?” Helisma peered over the edge blandly. “A request has been made… can I assist?”

“YES,” Asta groaned, holding onto Cullen for dear life. “Please, Helisma, find the Ambassador and tell her I’m in labor. I’m fucking having my baby and I need all the Orlesians in the hall fucking OUT before I give birth in the fucking Solarium! I‘m not going to give Solas the satisfaction, the asshole!”

“At once,” Helisma agreed, and serenely moved out and into the Great Hall, leaving the balcony door open as she efficiently took the shortcut across Vivienne’s former realm.

“Cullen,” Asta whimpered when the pain passed. “This _sucks_.”

“I can tell,” Cullen started her walking again, hearing vague protests and odd sounds from the other side of the door, only opening it once he heard the outer doors clang shut. “Josie!” He greeted their friend a little desperately as the door opened towards them.

“It’s finally happening!” Josie’s face was lit up with excitement, her hands fluttering, her desk and quill for once missing. “I’m having your room prepared, water boiled, and Ellendra is on her way… the runner stopped by to inform me after Helisma reached me, I’m happy to say…” Asta groaned and stopped then, clutching her fist into Cullen’s coat. “Take your time,” she urged her gently. “Oh, Asta, it’s so exciting!”

Her enthusiasm was hardly contagious as Asta shuffled her way across the hall, her eyes on her door, and whimpered again when she saw the stairs. “Cullen… I can’t…” tears leaked from her eyes. “It‘s always fucking stairs, isn‘t it? Maker-be-damned _stairs_.”

“Nonsense,” Ellendra’s voice cracked like a whip from behind them. “You aren’t going to let those stairs keep you from your baby, Inquisitor. You’re stronger than that,” the healer nodded in approval at Cullen’s stance, arms around her waist to support her. “One at a time, Asta,” she urged more gently, when she saw the rebellious fire in Asta’s eyes.

Two more contractions passed as Asta climbed the stairs, creaking and groaning under their combined weight, and her moans from the pains echoing into the deep tower. “You’ve got this, love,” Cullen moved her up the last step, and into their rooms slowly. “Bed?” He asked the healer lowly.

“If she wants,” she offered. “Let her choose. She might be more comfortable standing…”

“Fuck no!” Asta grunted.

“We have to get you out of your clothes first, in any case,” the healer stated calmly. Cullen admired her presence of mind. He had forgotten, in his singular focus, that getting Asta into their room wasn’t the only goal remaining. He immediately started unbuckling her long jacket, pulling her arms free between pains, stripping her down to her breastband and smalls, and then helping her step out of those as well.

“They’re close together,” Cullen worried aloud, forehead crinkled. “Is this moving too fast?”

“Better too fast than too slow,” the healer smiled. “Though it can be rough for the mother this way. In any case, her water has broken… one way or another, we’re having a baby tonight or tomorrow,” she looked a little grim. “Were you sure about her due date?”

“Within a week or two?” Cullen hesitated. “We weren’t exactly…” he stopped to hold her through another contraction before helping her into the bed. “Perhaps I should… leave?”

“Don’t you dare,” Asta glared, as she maneuvered herself. “Cullen Rutherford, if you leave this room you’d better never come back.”

“Just as well you have me,” Ellendra muttered.  
  
Asta managed to pull herself into her bed, curled into a ball and stopped groaning. Cullen stood there, helpless and clueless.

“That won’t do,” the healer criticized. “Inquisitor, you have to sit up, relax, get comfortable…”

“Fuck you,” Asta muffled her voice into the blankets.

“That‘s not my job,” Ellendra countered easily, Asta sat up a little and glared. “Better. Now, Ser Rutherford, get behind her. Support her back, while I check her dilation.”

That process was miserable, and Asta cursed the healer several more times before it was over. “You’re doing well,” the healer looked encouraging. “Three fingers.” Cullen rested his back against their headboard. “This is going to be fast,” she told both of them. “A matter of hours, by my guess.”

“Hours?” Asta’s voice broke. “What do you mean, hours?! I can‘t do this!”

“Better than days. You can and will,” Ellendra corrected. “The baby is head down, and you are doing fine.” She faced the two of them. “Just follow my instructions, listen to your body, and by morning you’ll have your son.”

“All right,” Cullen answered for both of them - there really wasn’t any other answer, was there? - as Asta whimpered.

Long minutes turned into short hours in waves of pain, echoed into cramps pressed into his hand from Asta’s angry fingers, groans that echoed from her balcony into the Keep below. For a while, a Chant drifted upwards from the garden Chantry, but when Asta bellowed to make it stop, Ellendra took a moment to give instructions to the runners outside the room. It faded away after that, and Asta relaxed again, as much as she was able.

“I need to push,” she demanded a relatively short while later.

“You can’t,” the healer told her bluntly. “You aren‘t fully dilated…”

“No,” Asta said shortly, “You don’t understand, I _have_ to push. You‘re the one who told me to listen to my fucking body. It says _push_.”

“Breathe through the urge,” the healer instructed, and demonstrated.

“FUCK YOU AND YOUR BREATHING!” Asta screamed. Cullen flinched back at the noise, but he caught himself doing the breathing instead, and Asta echoed him, perhaps unconsciously.

“We’ve got it,” the healer looked relieved when next she checked. “Go ahead, bear down, Inquisitor, with the next contraction…”

Asta nodded, focused, her hand tight on Cullen’s arm, purple dots of bruises already showing up against his skin. She groaned into the contraction, and then held her breath, bearing down as the healer counted. “Good!” the healer said. “Another just like that…”

“I want my Mum,” Pippa’s voice was clear on the other side of the door. “You have to let me in!”

“Just ignore her for now,” Ellendra instructed in a quiet voice. “We’ll let her in when you’re done, Inquisitor.” Asta nodded again, her eyes distant, trying to rest between contractions.

“No…” Cullen protested. “Pippa might know something… ask her…” Asta groaned, and the healer started counting again as Asta pushed through to the other side of pain.

“Cullen is right,” Asta whimpered after. “Ask…” Ellendra made her way down the stairs again, and this time, Cullen counted as Asta pushed, the contractions right on top of each other. Too fast, he fretted. Surely there was supposed to be a larger gap? Two more contractions passed before Ellendra returned, without Pippa.

“She didn’t know anything, she was just worried,” Ellendra smiled approvingly. “She merely says her brother is mad. And so are you,” she smiled sweetly at Asta. “So let’s evict him, shall we? A little less togetherness sounds like just the thing.” Asta nodded, fast, this time, breathless. “And push…” the counting was longer, drawn out numbers, and Asta seemed to rededicate herself to her labor. “I can see the head,” the healer smiled. “Just a few more.” The pushes started to run into each other, Cullen losing count. “And that’s the head,” the healer sounded as proud as if it was her child. “Good job, Inquisitor! Just one more like that!”

Asta snarled wordlessly, but pushed when asked again, a silent warrior against the enemy of her own body. “And that’s him!” Ellendra cleared his mouth and nose, and the angry wail of a newborn shrieked through the high ceilings of the room. “Well, now, aren’t you loud,” the healer laughed, and set the baby on Asta’s chest, rubbing him off briskly with a thin cloth. “We’ll always know where you are, won’t we?”

Cullen stared. His son was… tiny. _His son._ He wrapped his arms around Asta more tightly. “Love…” a single tear slipped down his face, “He’s so small.”

“Not that small,” Ellendra seemed satisfied. “He’ll be fine. No problems with his lungs, at any rate. Some of the best I‘ve ever heard. Definitely not early. Must have had your dates wrong.”

Asta leaned back against her husband as the healer worked the last of her magic, delivering the placenta, and healing a small tear. “Hello, Ian Magnus,” Asta murmured, as the bald baby hazily blinked, almost as if in recognition. “I’m your Mum. Shocking, I know. Who the Void thought that was a good idea? I blame your Da. No doubt you will too, eventually. Sorry in advance for screwing up. I tend to do that.” Cullen lifted a shaking hand and traced the baby’s back with a single finger. So soft.

“Can I?” Cullen asked Asta, his voice full of wonder, shifting sideways, and holding out his hands.

Asta winced at the shifting bed movement, but laughed, face glowing, “Of course!” She awkwardly handed the baby to Cullen, who held the impossibly fragile person, hand beneath his head, the child the size of his forearm.

Ellendra smiled slightly, and nodded in approval. “We need to get you cleaned up, in any case, Inquisitor,” she recommended. “Let your husband hold him, while we manage a quick bathe. I’m sure your daughter is impatient to meet her brother. Can you stand?”

Asta made a face, “Maybe?” With the healer’s help Asta made her way to the tub (When had that arrived? Cullen couldn’t remember seeing it delivered.) and sunk in, wincing at the heat, but relaxing nearly immediately. Cullen merely stared at his son, completely transfixed, shifting off the bed so that Ellendra could change the bedclothes, feeling like he should help but completely unable to take his eyes off his child. He was so impossibly… finished. Briskly, his wife rinsed off, and Ellendra helped her out of the tub, and into a loose robe and absorbent smallclothes. “Ellendra… would you let Pippa in?” Cullen handed Asta Ian back, reluctantly, when she held out her arms. The baby started nuzzling against her shoulder.

“If you‘re ready, and then I‘ll help you figure out how to feed him,” Ellendra smiled, and made her way down to the door. “It’s all right,” she announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. “A boy, healthy, and probably eight pounds. They’re all doing well.” A huge cheer went up through the hall, and Cullen and Ian both started at the noise. “Pippa… your presence is requested upstairs with your family.”

The little girl marched up the stairs deliberately, her eyes huge. “Come over and meet your brother, Pippa,” Cullen found his voice, hoarse but still there. Ellendra helped Asta wrap him in a nappy, and find a position to feed him, her arm complicating matters, but the healer taking it in stride. The baby glomped onto her breast hard enough to startle both of them.

“Well, it doesn’t look like you two will have any difficulties figuring that out,” Ellendra mused, with some humor.

Asta smiled, “At least something is easy. I don’t get ‘easy’ very often.” Her voice was quiet and softer than perhaps he had ever heard it.

“He’s loud,” Pippa said at last, eyes still wide. “I heard him before, all the way downstairs.”

“He is that,” Cullen admitted with a fond grin at his daughter. “You were right.”

“Can I touch him?”

“Of course,” Asta answered, with a tone of surprise. Pippa lightly touched one arm, and then ran her fingers down to his fist. The baby clenched it in reflex, and the little girl relaxed.

“I was scared,” Pippa said quietly, as if to the baby. “You were mad. But we‘re both all right.” She lunged at Asta’s other side, then, and Cullen loosened an arm to wrap it around her as she climbed up onto the bed. “You’re here, now.”

“We’re all right,” Cullen agreed, and then he realized how late it was - that night had fallen, and the skies were dark with clouds. “Why don’t you sleep in here tonight, Pippa?” But the little girl was already there, curled up next to her mother and father tightly, with her eyes shut. “I guess that’s settled,” he chuckled. “Ellendra… do you mind…”

“Of course,” the healer smiled and prepared to leave. “Congratulations, Inquisitor and Ser Rutherford, on the addition to your family. I‘ll check in again in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Asta whispered, eyes heavy, but focused on her baby, as the healer made her way downstairs. Cullen merely nodded, his heart full and tears leaking.

***

Cullen was fairly certain they all slept for a while, himself in fits and starts, when Asta shifted against him, as she was still using him as a backrest, unwilling to set Ian down in his cradle, and opting to sleep upright with him on her chest. The baby woke, and needed changing, which Cullen managed while Asta watched, euphoria exhausted, and then he handed him back. Asta looked at the child dubiously, her face strangely like Dorian’s for half a moment, as if they were closer relations than extremely distant cousins. But she shrugged when the baby latched onto a proferred breast again, as if he was starving. “Hey, eat if you’re hungry, I guess. Not like there’s any one else wanting it,” she laughed lightly. Her son cracked an eye at the sound, and then closed it again.

Asta sunk her head into Cullen’s shoulder and he watched his son’s lips suck at her breast eagerly, eyes buttoned shut and throat gulping. “Asta… you’re… he’s…” his throat closed off, all his words inadequate. She was so strong, stronger than anyone he had ever met, to go through that pain, and torment, and sleep with the result in her arms as if it had been a minor skirmish instead of a battle that the bards should sing about.

Women were warriors, every one. How had he never seen it before?

“He’s perfect,” Asta summed up for him, letting her emotions overfill her eyes in the form of tears. “Maker, I don’t want to cry.” She cleared her throat and sniffed, blinking furiously. “Cullen, Pippa is going to be jealous. No child stays enamored of a new sibling for long.”

Cullen laughed, “I can deal with that jealousy, love. More time with her Da, and me taking Maggie every so…”

“No, absolutely not,” Asta vetoed before he could finish. “His name is _Ian Magnus_. We are not calling him Maggie. That‘s just cruel.”

Cullen thought for a moment, “Gus?”

“Even worse,” Asta choked.

Cullen’s wide smile grew sly, “Pup?” And Asta’s laugh ringing through the high ceilings of her room popped the baby off her breast and woke up a confused Pippa, forcing Cullen to resettle their daughter while Asta struggled to get Ian back on task with a calming voice and only one hand.

Asta finally whispered, once Ian was relatched and eating again with narrow suspicious eyes focused on his unpredictable mother, two tiny hands on either side of her breast, as if attempting to hold it still, “All right. Pup and Pippa it is. We’ll all sound like we’re spitting all the time, but you win. Maker‘s Breath, I _hate_ losing this one. But you‘ve worn me down. Finally.”

“You’re the one who insisted upon Magnus,” Cullen argued amiably. “And refused to say why.”

“As if my name choices had any impact whatsoever on your nickname choice,“ Asta snarked, and then whispered shyly. “I wanted to name him after the two best men I know,” Asta looked up at Cullen whimsically, with the smile that made him take notice.

“Then why is he Ian Magnus, instead of Dorian Stanton, or some other rotten concoction of our names? Because of all the horrible mouthfuls to bestow upon a wee man, Magnus has got to be one of the worst.” Cullen protested.

“Magnus means ‘beautiful mind’,” Asta giggled, a little sheepishly, “and you‘re the reason we had to use Ian.” Cullen’s snort was soft and disdainful. “How soon you forget making unwise promises to good friends. For shame, Ser Knight.”

“So Dorian truly has a namesake?”

“I never said it was Dorian’s mind, and you are far too modest,” Asta chided, with a soft smile for him alone. Cullen’s resulting surprise and slow answering smile was beautiful to see. “Besides…” she hesitated, “Ser Ian Magnus sounds dashing,” she admitted. “Like a character in a novel.”

This time the snort was louder. “Already a knight, is he?”

“Maybe,” Asta allowed, as she traced the barely there peach fuzz of her son’s hair, “If he wants to be.”

Cullen leaned in closer, “He could end up an archivist, you know. Or a mage. Or a brother in the Chantry.”

Asta shrugged, unconcerned, and nodded at the little girl that was sleeping against him, “And we could end up with a Ser Philippa.”

Cullen’s smile was fond, as he stroked his daughter’s hair, tangled against his leg. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.” He paused, “She’d make a wonderful Knight-Enchanter, with her willpower.”

Asta giggled again at that, “Well, that’s a nice way of putting it. Saying she’s as stubborn as a pig and twice as demanding is the understatement of the age. But she’s ours, just as much as… Pup,” Asta made a face, but quickly let it fall to smile at the girl wistfully, “I only wish I could hold both of them at once. I don’t have enough arms to go around. But Pippa’s brilliant, and if how she has Bull wrapped around her finger is any indication, she’ll go far. Stubbornness is a tool, if used correctly.”

“Is that something you know about personally, Inquisitor?” Cullen hovered, a breath away, eyes glinting with happiness and humor.

“Maybe,” Asta grinned and bit her lip slightly, eyes flashing to his lips. “Maker help us if either of these kids take after their parents.” With that Cullen swept in from the side and kissed her, more assertively than he should have, perhaps, leaving Asta’s eyes glazed. “Damn, Cullen. How long do we have to wait? You did ask, didn‘t you?”

Cullen swallowed, “Six weeks, Ellendra said.” He shifted slightly, trying to ease the tightness in his breeches, and trying to pull his eyes away from Asta’s breasts. “I’m going to have to be careful not to be around when you’re feeding him.” Asta shifted the baby to the other breast awkwardly, and smirked at Cullen in invitation.

“Fuck that,” Asta said gently, “You will be here for every feeding you can manage, Cullen. I want you looking at me. Just. Like. That. Inquisitor’s orders.”

Cullen blushed and met her eyes, “I can do that. I won’t be able to keep my eyes away from you.”

“Good,” Asta’s eyes shone slightly, “Now, do we need to have the argument about a name day in the Chantry, or should I just capitulate now?”

“Better give in this time,” Cullen advised, with a half smile. “It’s going to be Mother Giselle, and the Skyhold Chantry, and a very private ceremony. No nobles that aren’t close personal friends. With my sister, and Josie, and Petri, and his mother, and whichever Chargers happen to be around and might be interested in attending. We‘ll name Dorian as godfather in absentia, and Bull will accept for him. You can tell Dorian after it‘s already happened, so that he doesn‘t get to argue away the gift. You know he‘ll try.”

Asta laughed again, but softer. “A vashoth merc accepting for a ‘Vint godfather - one who believes the Chantry has outlived its usefulness? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They were quiet, then, watching their children, and this time when Magnus slipped free of Asta‘s nipple, he stayed asleep, little curled hands against his chest, his cheeks flushed as pink as his father‘s. “That sounds perfect.” She leaned against Cullen again, and Cullen adjusted his arm to fit around her. “Everything is so… perfect.”

“’Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting’,” Cullen quoted in a whisper, feeling a small touch of dread.

“But it’s fucking fabulous while it lasts,” Asta argued instantly, eyes sharp and determined, pulling his eyes back to her own. “So don’t mind me, while I’m over here doing the marveling instead of concentrating on the doom in the next verse.”

Cullen relaxed again, “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” He paused and then kissed her again. “I’ll think I’ll join you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the Chant of Light, Threnodies 8:13:  
> "Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.  
> You have brought Sin to Heaven  
> And doom upon all the world."
> 
> Just in case no one recognized the reference. Bioware owns it, of course. I just quote it. A lot.


	50. Waking with Day

Ian’s cries were louder than a high dragon’s shriek, and twice as paralyzing, and yet Cullen still managed to sleep through them. “Hey,” Asta nudged her husband. “Cullen…”

A muttered groan was the only response.

“It’s your turn,” Asta murmured. “Up and at ‘em, soldier boy. That noise is the sound of your reveille.”

Cullen maneuvered himself partially upright, letting the blankets puddle around his waist while he scrubbed at his face with both hands, the recent lack of sleep causing great confusion. “I fail to understand why I have to fetch the baby when you are the only one with breasts.”

Asta flipped over. “You’re the only one with two arms. He probably doesn’t need to eat anyway. He‘s scared, not hungry.” The cries hit the next peak, and Cullen winced, swinging his legs over the bed to reach the cradle a few stumbling steps away, wondering how his wife could tell the difference, and hoping he would learn, in time.

He scooped the baby out of his bed with a gentle murmur, and the fussing decreased a few decibels. “That’s right, Pup. I’m here. So what is it?” His diaper was dry, and he wasn’t rooting against Cullen’s chest… “Just a nightmare, then? Yeah, I get those too.” He settled himself in the chair nearby, and put his feet up. “You seem a little young for the part of the Chant I say when it’s a bad night,” he murmured to his son. “So… maybe a song then?” The baby hiccupped and Cullen cradled him a little closer, letting the baby ball up against his bare chest and squirm into his neck. So tiny… but it didn’t feel awkward, just… right.

“’Oh, hush thee, my baby,’” Cullen started, stumbling slightly over the words while he struggled to remember, “’thy sire was a knight, thy mother a lady, both bonny and bright. The woods and the glen, from the towers which we see, they all are belonging, dear baby, to thee.’”

He broke off, “Well, that’s not quite right. It’s the Inquisition’s castle. But you and your sister will at least have the land in South Reach. Maybe one of you will stay put, take after your aunt or uncle instead of your parents,” Cullen yawned and kept going, blinking quickly in an attempt to stay awake, for fear of dropping his burden, now curled into his shoulder like he belonged there.

His gut clenched, realizing his son did belong there. _His son_. Would he ever stop having that kind of reaction? He half hoped that he wouldn’t - it was a pleasant jolt, every time. The next verse of the song came out a bit more wobbly in reaction.

 

“’Oh fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows

It calls but the Wardens who guard thy repose.

Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red

If a step of a foeman came near to thy bed.’”

He paused again, reflecting on the words. “Quite accurate, that verse. I have no doubt Thom would battle through the Deep Roads in your defense, hairy sap that he is.” He chuckled, softly, so as not to disturb the bundle he held. “But don’t tell him I said that.”

A huge yawn nearly split Cullen face in half, and he felt his son echo it against his neck. “Who wrote this song anyway? My Mam sang it to us, I remember. Oh well, the last verse. Let’s see…” He shifted Ian to the crook of his arm so he could see his eyes, growing heavy in the light of the remaining candle.

“’Oh hush thee, my baby, the time soon will come

When thy sleep be broken by trumpet and drum.

Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while ye may

for cares come with manhood and waking with day.’”*

The little one was completely out now, and Cullen eased him back into his cradle as if the child was ten pounds of highly explosive Gaatlok instead of chubby sleeping infant, almost too scared to sigh in relief, lest the expelled air wake the child. He managed it at last, and stumbled back to his own bed, still yawning.

His wife flipped over to snuggle against him when he came back to bed. “Good job, Commander,” she muttered, closer to asleep than awake. “Morbid song. Fereldan?”

“I have no idea,” Cullen sighed and pulled her closer, “Worked, wherever it came from. Mam used to sing it to Ros and Branson. Probably to me and Mia, but I don‘t remember that.”

“Perfect. If it takes war lullabies to get him to sleep, I’m in favor. Learn a few more?”

Cullen smiled against her shoulder, kissing it lightly. “For him? Anything.”

***

“Philippa Maxine Rutherford!” Asta’s voice rang out of the tower’s balcony towards the courtyard. “You get your ass back up here this minute!”

“Better do as she says,” Bull whispered to his miniature partner in crime. “She beats me with a stick when I…” Krem covered his Chief’s mouth immediately.

“Don’t listen to the Chief,” he ordered. “He’s straight up lying.” The Charger’s second turned fierce eyes onto his Chief. “We all know who really beats him, and it’s not the Inquisitor. Don’t make me steal your crystal and tattle on you to Dorian, Chief. Go on, Pippa, go see your Mum.”

The little girl glowered, her face streaked with dust, curly hair wild, and her usual kerchief askew, “Don’t want to, Uncle Krem.” Bull coughed at the title, and Rosalie grinned wide, smacking Krem in the chest proudly over the stubbornness of her niece.

“We can’t have that kind of insubordination in the Chargers or the Inquisition,” Krem straightened up to his full height of five foot six, and gave his best attempt at authoritative looming - rather effective given the child‘s diminutive stature. Bull shuddered in silent laughter. “Your Mum is the Inquisitor, Pippa, and that means she’s in charge. Everyone has to do what she says.”

“Even Da?” The child looked dubious.

Bull snorted, “Especially your Da. He gets it worse than any of us.” Several of the Chargers all nodded seriously at this. Rosalie snorted and didn‘t respond.

“Even Bull?” The girl asked Krem seriously, “He’s a lot bigger than Mum…”

“Yup,” the qunari agreed, “Like I said, I piss her off, she takes it out on…” Krem cleared his throat.

“Don‘t, Chief. Inappropriate humor.” Bull pouted. “Don’t look like that, you big baby. You know I’m right.”

The child in question tilted her head, and then huffed in response, “Fine. But she probably wants me to take a bath.”

“A dire fate, to be sure,” Krem’s mouth twitched. “Go get it over with. If you do, I‘ll come read to you, later.”

The little girl stood up, but hesitated, “In Tevene?”

“Promise,” Krem looked the child in the eyes, and crossed his chest with a single finger. “Tell your mother so she expects me.” With that Pippa nodded and ran off, back towards the Keep’s main stairs. Asta disappeared from her balcony as soon as the girl disappeared into the building.

The adults alone again, they looked at Krem, “You read to her. In Tevene,” Skinner’s voice was nasally dismissive and a little mocking.  
  
The soporati shrugged, “She wants to learn. I’m not a great reader, but slower is better, the Inquisitor says, when you’re learning. She’s happy to let me teach her.” Krem blushed, a blotchy red up his neck, to his shaved hairline, and took a drink to hide his embarrassment.

“Of course she is,” Ros rolled her eyes and stole Krem’s beer bottle out of his hand to take a long swig. “My sister in law is so damn prissy. Next thing she’ll have Bull teaching Pip Qunlat. ‘Course Cull would pick someone like her. Maker, he has such a rod up his ass. Some things never change.”

The Bull cleared his throat, ‘Uh, yeah, we started Qunlat last week. Boss thinks it’ll be important. Pippa knows some anyway. Hard not to, in Rivain. She‘s got a great accent.”

“Well, shit,” Ros took another swig and passed the nearly empty bottle back to her lover. “My whole family’s smarter than me. Even the kids. Cull learned fucking Orlesian during the war. _Orlesian._ Snobby bastard, putting on airs.” Her teasing tone belied the harsh words.

“You have your own talents,” Krem murmured suggestively into her neck, making her blush like her older brother. “But there’s nothing wrong with your mind, either, Amata. I‘ll teach you all the Tevene words you want. Just ask.”

Bull hooted at the name, “I bet you would, Krem. ‘Specially the dirty ones. It took Dorian the fucking death of Corypheus to call me Amatus in public, and the smooth Krem de la Krem is already pulling out all the stops.”

Rosalie smirked at the Iron Bull. “You probably took longer to earn it.” She leaned backwards and kissed Krem openly, turning the man nearly purple, but he traced her jaw with a thumb and kissed her back, enthusiastically, to the cheering and hooting accompaniment of the rest of the Chargers.

“Damn it, I miss Dorian,” Bull muttered, and shoved back from the table. “Everyone’s just too fucking happy here. Gonna go find my daughter. Least she misses him too. Might as well be miserable together.”

“Good luck with that, Chief,” Krem winked, “Last I saw the Sprog, she was flirting with one of Josie’s runners. The blond one. Three years older than her, for the record. He was definitely flirting back. Might want to have a word. Figured it wasn‘t my place.” He waved two fingers in the air at the barmaid, who promptly delivered the bottles, swinging her hips in the Bull‘s direction with a noticeable lack of response.

“Shit,” Bull grunted. “I gotta go beat some sense into a kid that isn‘t mine. Don‘t wait up.”

“We won’t,” Ros smirked, and looked a little too much like her brother for comfort. Krem hid his continuing blush with another swig. “I think we’ve better things to do.”

***

Cole arrived two days later, at Maryden’s side, looking up at the library and muttering. “Confusion, swirling like dust devils in a dry summer. Templars came, warmth and food and safe, so safe. No need for fire. Scattered like the dead leaves, brittle, sharp and hollow. They crack. Both have strength I’ve never seen - but they are so different. Ironwood to Silverite. Both protect, but I can’t have both. Have to choose. I don’t want to choose.”

Maryden rested a single hand on his arm. “Can you help, Cole?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “No. Maybe. She’s twisted up, and I can’t remember why. Whom. Him. The shelves are still empty.”

“Maybe they’ll come back?” the bard offered softly.

Cole shook his head, slowly and mournfully, “I don’t think they can come back. We can’t go where he’s hidden them.” He looked up at the main stairs, then, and smiled widely, his bright eyes glinting from behind his hair. “She’s here.”

Maryden sunk herself into a bow as Asta flew down the steps, Cullen following after at a much slower pace, given that he had Ian in his arms. “Cole!” she laughed.

Cole smiled, “I did see you again! Not soon, but I came when you asked. I’m glad you asked,” he confessed.

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” Asta apologized to him and Maryden. “I know you probably had commitments and plans…”

“It was no trouble, Inquisitor,” Maryden declared in a facsimile of her performance voice. “I remain an agent of the Inquisition.”

Cole frowned, “Maryden, she’s just a person. You don’t have to talk like that. She isn’t scary, she’s…” Cole’s eyes went wide as Cullen reached them, wider than Asta had ever seen them. “Oh, hullo,” he reached out and touched a sleeping Ian’s nose. “You’re _new_. It was dark before, so dark, dreaming of it now, warm and throbbing, a lovely voice, but dim, all around and far away. It’s different here, bright lights and louder talking, cold and wet, yelling to be heard above all the noise. But so good, one sweet and soothing, one a deep voice in the night.” Cole lifted his eyes to Cullen, “He loves you, his warm wall. Something to lean against. Safe. Solid. There. You‘re doing a good job.”

“Maybe I am at that,” Cullen swallowed, moved by the man’s observations. “Our daughter is around. Somewhere. I suspect she’ll want to meet you.”

Asta started out of her muttered conversation with the bard about how the Inquisition was seen in Denerim, pulled back into the present introductions. “Cole, this is Ian.”

“I know,” Cole deadpanned, and Asta blushed. “And he’s not a pup. Why do you call him that?” He asked Cullen, confused. “The other one is… different, too. She’s not either of you, not the same way. She belongs here, a snug fit for a piece no one thought was missing. She’s bright, so bright. Brighter than anyone has been since…” he looked confused. “But I can’t remember that, either. Why?”

“Perhaps we should just find Pippa?” Asta looked around, as if expecting her daughter to materialize out of nowhere. “Maker’s Breath, if Sera has her stealing arrows from the armory again, I’ll have to do something drastic. The blacksmiths are complaining.”

Cole closed his eyes, and concentrated. “Not in the armory. She’s,” he lifted an arm, directed his fingers to point, “just there,” he opened his eyes and he was pointing at the tavern. “Bull is there. A hole where his heart should be. Crap, this sucks. Glad there‘s Em.” Cole smiled, “Shy girl giving way to wildness that was always in her, just squashed down and pretending it wasn‘t there at all. ‘He’s not that much older, Chief. I’m not a baby. You never let me have any fun.’”

Cullen lifted an eyebrow. “That might be private, Cole.”

“It is,” Cole admitted. “But Bull needs help. Dorian would know what to do, what to say to both of them to make it better. Bull only wants to hit something. The kid didn’t do anything, but that doesn’t fucking matter. Stay away. Too young. Too fragile. Been hurt before, don‘t you hurt her. Shit, Dorian, you’d better be able to give me some advice.” Cole smiled. “I will try to help. Bull can talk to me. Dorian has been very busy lately, misses his Amatus, his daughter, trying to unravel the threads that have tangled. Shining lights into dark places. Dalish helps. She‘s…” Cole stopped. “I’m talking a lot. But there‘s a lot to say.”

“I’ve missed you,” Asta laughed, and took his arm. “Come on. Drinks in the tavern. We’ll catch up, and maybe Pippa won’t disappear before we get there. Maryden, please don‘t feel like you have to perform while you‘re here. I don‘t want it to be a burden.”

Pippa bounded to her feet, and looked guilty, hiding the pocketknife that Skinner had given her to try to teach her mumblety peg behind her back. “Mum! Da! I…” in the next second she dropped the knife, stunned. “Compassion? You were…”

“I was,” Cole confirmed. “I’m different now. A little more me. A little less me. But you can see me. All of me.” He leaned towards her, almost bowing at his waist, and smiled sweetly. “Hullo, I‘m Cole now.”

“My friends can, anyway,” Pippa corrected. Bull grunted behind her. “Oh, Hush,” she told the vashoth, over her shoulder. “They help me see, right now. I’m…”

“You’re you,” Cole affirmed. “Bright, so bright, but protected here, and protected there. Your light barely shines through the gaps in the stone, you’re hedged in so tight. Love wrapped around, and guarding. They’re going to have to let go, soon. Determination, Patience, and Mercy. Mercy looked like _her._ ” Cole looked a little confused. “Why a goat?”

“My fault,” Pippa admitted. “Chantry fables. The goat didn’t give up, you see. Even when all the other stronger animals, with claws and fangs and such couldn’t climb the hill, the goat made it because that‘s what it was made for.”

Cole nodded, understanding completely. “The stories helped, still do. They weren’t true, not all of them, but they helped you when you needed help. I wonder what animal I would be in the stories?”

Pippa tilted her head, “I don’t know. The collection didn‘t have one about Compassion. Maybe you‘d just be people?” She took the spirit-man’s other hand. “The best kind of people. The kind that helps.”

“Sera wouldn’t like that,” Cole observed.

“Sera’s not right about everything,” Pippa countered stubbornly. “You’re helping, whatever she says. Let me worry about Sera. She likes me.”

***

It was with great trepidation that Cole entered the War Room, to meet the people waiting there. “Cole,” Rhys breathed, and lunged towards him, embracing him quickly. “Oh, Cole.”

“I’m all right, Rhys,” the man said, hugging him in return. “I found me. Asta is good. She wouldn’t let bad things happen. I’m helping, now. In good ways. No more killing.”

“Of course,” Rhys pulled back, and wiped a tear away. “It’s just… it’s so good to see you, friend.”

“Friend…” Cole breathed. “Yes. I am your friend.” Evangeline hung back a little, stunned at the differences between the spirit she had met before and the man that stood before her now. Cole held out his hand politely, “Ser Evangeline. It is good to see you.” Cole looked doubtful. “Is it good to see me?”

Evangeline batted his hand away. “Do you know how worried we were? You just… disappeared, and then Lambert was dead and we knew…” she took two steps forward and clutched at him. “Cole. I’m sorry. I still don’t understand, not really, but…” she pulled back, blushing. “I’m trying. A bit.”

“You tried to remember me,” Cole’s face lit up. “You worked at it. Small paper, hidden in your breastplate.” He paused. “You wrote me down.”

“I tried,” Evangeline’s voice broke. “Andraste believe me, I tried.” She reached up and shifted his hair out of his eyes. “Your bard… she takes care of you?”

“She made me get a hair cut. They didn’t want to be cut,” Cole admitted. “They just grew back, slowly. I couldn‘t stop them.”

“Hair does that,” Rhys chuckled, eyes marveling. “She got you a better hat? Better clothes?”

“No, that was the Inquisitor,” Cole flushed - actually flushed. “She keeps trying to keep me safe. Every time I walk into darkness she worries.  So I try not to go there any more. A lot of people worry about me now. I don’t think it helps.” He paused, “I never ate before. Some things taste good, but I don’t like Fereldan stew. Things should have a taste, I think?”

“Trust me, nobody likes Fereldan stew,” Asta muttered, “Not even Fereldans. It’s considered a virtue, to have a constitution that will digest it.” Cole nodded thoughtfully. “So… I suppose the best thing to do would be to get started. Cole, I have some questions about the nature of the Fade.”

“The Fade isn’t nature,” Cole said, confused. “It’s… a place. Mostly. Things change, but not permanently. Choices there matter less. What do you want to know?”

“Is it real?” Asta asked urgently. “Is it the only real place?”

“I don’t understand,” Cole’s forehead creased. “If spirits are people, are we people too? Sera’s fear is the worst. Shadows on the wall, flickering in the source of light, but do they ever disappear? Perspective can be wrong, distorts and lies. A narrow tunnel, you don’t see everything until you’re out of it.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand. I’m real, no matter what. I thought I had to kill to feel that, but I was wrong. You’re real, too.” He frowned, “You shouldn’t be thinking so hard.”

Cullen snorted, and then cleared his throat abruptly when the spirit turned man shrunk slightly. “I’m not laughing at you, Cole. I agree with you. Asta thinks too much.”

“It’s a possibility!” Asta insisted. “If the Fade is the original world, and ours only a construct, a dream…”

“I don’t sleep yet,” Cole deadpanned. Rhys choked. “How can I exist if the world is a dream?”

“Exactly,” Asta stressed. “If we’re just… in someone else’s dream, someone like Fen’Harel…”

“Who?” Cole stared briefly. “That one. Wolf and friend. ‘It’s best if you forget.’ NO! You’re wrong!” The man became openly agitated. “No, no, no, no,” he pulled his hat down over his ears. “I remember,” he whimpered. “I remember - why?!” He reached out for Asta, who took his hand. “Don’t let him make me forget again.”

“I won’t, if I can help it, Cole,” Asta promised, wincing at his reaction. “What… what was that? Solas made you forget?”

“He’s coming,” Cole whispered. “He’s coming for her. He needs them - all of them. Killed his slow arrow, can‘t be trusted. He hurts the people he calls his friends, because he thinks he‘s doing the right thing.” He looked firm. “You mustn’t let him take her, Inquisitor. It‘s not safe. He‘s lost Wisdom. You remember.”

“Trust me, that is not an option,” Cullen swore, exchanging glances with his wife. “We won’t let him take her anywhere.”

“How can you stop him?” Cole fretted. “Made me forget, makes people sleep, Dreamers talk to him _there_. ‘Wake up! Wake up!’” He begged, covering his eyes. “I don’t want to sleep!”

“Are we all sleeping, Cole?” Asta tried to push, clinging stubbornly to her theory.  "We're called Sleepers..."

Abruptly, Cole calmed. “No. You’re just _wrong._ ”

Asta pulled herself up stiffly, “I don’t see how…”

“Don’t see,” Cole whispered. “ _Feel._ The parts you’re missing, trying to find you. Not used to being wrong, offense bubbling up like rage. How would he know?” He sighed, “If you weren’t going to believe me, why did you ask in the first place?”

Rhys overflowed with sniggers, which he tried in vain to turn into a fit of coughing. Asta turned, crossing her arms to nail him to the wall with cold, narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor, it’s just… Cole has a point. Why ask? You didn’t believe me, either, when I tried to argue with you.”

“How much sleep have you been losing over this, Inquisitor?” Cullen murmured, his lips twitching. “Rhys and Cole both claim…”

“Evidently, I am wrong,” Asta clenched her teeth. “I suppose there is a first time for everything.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been wrong, love,” Cullen pointed out, giving into his own chuckles.

“Some of the evidence supports it!” Asta protested, flushing red, with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “All the possibilities need to be investigated…”

“Not this one,” Cole blinked blankly. “’They are both real.’ That’s what _he_ said.”

“All right, point taken,” Asta shoved herself away from the table. “In that case, meeting adjourned. Rhys, Cole, would you please explain to Petri’s research team? They… they need to know to abandon that option and look into other explanations.” Her entire face and neck were red now. “I’m going to go find my babies, and see if I… can make myself useful in another way.”

“Love…” Cullen called as she swung open the War Room door, her face red, only to be ignored. “Well, I had no idea she was so emotionally invested in this theory,” he muttered.

Rhys grinned, and scratched under his beard. “I would say that the Inquisitor isn’t wrong very often. Has a little ego, on her, eh, Ser Cullen?”

Cullen tilted his head to the side, a rueful expression on his face, “Perhaps,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen it this bad before, though.”

“You’re idiots,” Evangeline rolled her eyes. “Both of you. It’s not ego. She thought she had it bloody figured out! How people would be in danger, and why Fen’Harel needed to do it! Now she feels like she’s starting from scratch. She's been adjusting her entire world view, just to discover her original perspective was right all along!” The knight shifted awkwardly when she realized all three men were staring at her openly. “I might have some experience with life-changing epiphanies,” she mentioned defensively.

“Yes,” Cole glanced up through his hair. “You do. You could help.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Again, totally a real song. Traditional Scots lullaby, "Oh Hush Thee My Baby". It's actually one of the reasons I started this fic - I had a (really, really, different) early version of this scene where Cullen sang it to his son. It doesn't get any more appropriate by accident, right? It even has Wardens! Chapter Title is taken from that, of course.
> 
> Also, congrats to those of you who knew that Asta was wrong. I couldn't resist having her really blow it with her theories for once.


	51. Calling Creation to Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the amazing Iduna who got me on track for this chapter. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> Sometimes you just need an extra set of eyes.
> 
> Chapter Title from the Chant of Light, of course.
> 
> "I have heard the sound  
> The song in the stillness,  
> The echo of your voice,  
> Calling creation to wake from its slumber."
> 
> Canticle of Trials, verse 1

Asta’s missing arm burned, as if all her severed nerves were on fire, and she pulled herself out of bed, tired of fighting with her own brain. The previous day had been spent wrestling to find a new set of leads, debating endlessly with Petri and several other mages in an attempt to figure out how, exactly to proceed. Every mage had a different theory on the nature of the Veil, and the library helped very little, from authors that supported an actual physical barrier, to those that said it was a mental construct, to those that insisted it was placed by the Maker at the beginning of time. Cullen snored gently, and she pulled the blanket, kicked down to the foot of the bed by their mutual restlessness, back up his bare body. “Love?” He roused immediately.

“Shh, can’t sleep, my arm is itching,” she whispered. “Going to check on Pippa. Go back to sleep?” She offered the option off-hand, as if it was a real possibility.

Cullen sat up, “I’ll come with you,” he whispered, pulling on his pants, and grabbing the candle from their table.

She slumped in defeat, but headed down the stairwell, to the next floor, the rickety wooden stairwell moving underneath her. They really did need to prioritize replacing it - the steps were a death-trap. She opened the door to Pippa‘s room, quietly so as to not disturb her, and stopped dead at the figure before her.

“Solas?” She reached for her daggers, reflexively, and then let her arms fall, glaring impotently at the imposter. Her first instinct had been to draw a weapon. A weapon that she couldn’t even use any longer, and hadn't carried for years. Mind you, a possible Elvhen god showing up in your daughter’s room in the middle of the night didn’t really foster trust, she justified. “Get out.” Her nostrils flared and her breathing sped, her hand tightening into a fist. She could always hit him, when he got close enough to let her. There was only one exit. Even if he fade-stepped he couldn't go through her, and Cullen was right behind.

“Inquisitor,” he bowed his head slightly in greeting, ignoring her order. “Welcome home.”

Asta stared at her former companion, a man she had considered a friend, in a place he had no right to be, Cullen stiffening behind her, obviously stifling his far more developed protective instincts. She knew Solas was aware that neither of them were armed, and wearing nothing more protective than a nightgown, gapping at the neck for Ian‘s access. “You heard me, you son of a bitch. Get out. You can’t have her.”

“I didn’t have to ask permission,” Fen’Harel replied, condescendingly. “I can educate her, as no one else can. You cannot risk or afford to pass up this opportunity, my friend.”

Asta‘s eyes narrowed at the informal address, “She is my daughter,” Asta stressed the final word clearly. “I promised I would never leave her, and you‘re not going to be the asshole who makes me break my word. Get the fuck out. Now, or I will…”

“You would not be leaving her, she would be leaving you,” Fen’Harel countered easily. “All children do, in time. This is just a little sooner than otherwise.”

“It doesn’t matter how you quibble,” Asta argued instantly. “She needs us. End of sentence. Leave, or I will call the guards. How many people across Thedas would be happy to hear that the Inquisition had possession of the man called Fen‘Harel?” Cullen hissed behind her in warning, and she winced, remembering exactly who she was talking to. Was she really threatening…

The man adjusted the wolf skin across his shoulder, and Asta watched his hands clasp behind his back. _Was he worried?_ But his next words held a scoffing tone, “Forgive me. You continue to surprise me, Inquisitor. You personally manipulated your new Divine…”

Asta interrupted. “Fuck. Off. She is not ‘my’ Divine.” She took two steps forward, intending to draw close enough to swing if she had to, Cullen reaching forward to draw her back away.

Fen’Harel waved her protest away, “…Your Divine into hiring the only Mage capable of reinstating the Circles as her Right Hand. You expect me to believe that you won’t send your daughter to one as soon as Vivienne conquers her opposition?”

“Not. My. Divine. And Vivienne won’t win,” Asta thrust her chin up stubbornly. “The College will win. Starkhaven is proof that mages don’t need isolation to be safe, and Dairsmuid was stable before…”

“Before madmen were allowed to kill your _daughter’s_ mother? Based on rumors alone?” Asta had never seen Solas sneer so thoroughly. “Who will stop the next round of insanity, in ten, twenty, one hundred, one thousand years? It won‘t be you, and this won‘t be the last tragedy!”

“It might be you, if you can stop stalking children for long enough to look around and wake the fuck up! Elvhenan is gone, Solas! What have you done with your immortality, besides sleep late?! And as for Dairsmuid, if I had known, if I had been there, you know I would never have let…”

“You could have done _nothing._ It was over and done long before you took hold of the power I allowed you to keep,” Fen’Harel hissed, straightening in the next moment, and calming. “No power you’ve ever held could ever have stopped it. This war was inevitable, from the day I created the Veil. Your ‘daughter’, on the other hand, can learn how to do what I do. Needs to learn, in point of fact. Would you deny her that knowledge?” His eyes gleamed with the challenge, knowing Asta’s personal weakness.

He knew them all. Knew them far too well. Asta’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t the only one who can teach her. We have options. Sending her away with you isn‘t one of…”

“Let her decide,” Cullen interrupted, squeezing her shoulder. “The writings we found in the Crossroads indicate that your agents were allowed to choose… Give Pippa that choice. To stay with us or go with you. Let her wake up, and decide for herself.”

“She’s a child,” Fen’Harel raised both eyebrows, almost imperceptibly. “With a child’s understanding. She will not, cannot choose wisely.”

“She’s no ordinary child,” Asta shot back, reaching up for her husband’s hand and squeezing it. “Let her decide. Doesn’t she deserve her freedom, too, Fen’Harel? Or should I say… Shartan?”

Never had he looked so much like a wolf as in that moment when she called him by the name she only suspected he had earned. In the limited glow of the single candle, Asta fancied she could see the shadow of the creature hulking behind him, eyes burning the same green of the orb (how could a shadow have so many eyes?). In that moment, she almost wondered if he was the god the legends claimed him to be.

But he was something else. Something forgotten.

“I’m right, then,” Asta murmured, in awe. “That building we came across, while chasing the Qun all over the Crossroads, that was a Chantry dedicated to the man who freed the slaves - one of Andraste‘s disciples, but he wasn‘t really, was he? You were never her disciple. You were more than that. Just as you were more than my companion. Humans called him Shartan. I thought perhaps he was just an agent of yours, but he is you. Was you. You removed their vallaslin, you fought for them, tried to teach them how to live without depending on a god, inspired them to great things… Solas, you were a hero. What the fuck happened to you?!”

He shrunk, somehow and failed to confirm her suspicions. Was she wrong after all? Cullen tensed behind her, stiffer yet and distrust coming off him in waves. In lieu of replying, Fen’Harel bent over the sleeping child, and whispered two simple words. “Wake up.”

Asta’s stomach clenched, her body half expecting to bolt upright in her bed upstairs, preparing to flee back down the stairs to reach her daughter before he could make off with her physically. But Pippa’s eyes opened, focused on her angry stare, and clouded with guilt. “Sorry, Mum. Guess you know what I did?”

Asta swallowed her reaction, and transferred her glare back to her former companion. “What‘s done is done, Pippa. In the meantime, Sol… the Wolf is here, right now. He has a question for you.” Pippa’s eyes went wide as she took in her guest, nearly fading into the shadows of the wall opposite, and pushed herself up higher in the bed. “Pippa, this is… Fen’Harel. Or, if you prefer, Solas. He used to be a friend of mine.” That admission took a great deal of effort to say, uttered through clenched, angry teeth, and Solas tilted his head, acknowledging their status change with something that might have looked like regret in a person less controlled.

“Pleased to meet you,” Pippa rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m Pippa. You don‘t look any different, here. Why are you always alone in the Fade? Helisma says wolves live in families, most of the time, unless they do something to piss off the pack, but you‘re always alone.” Solas winced. “Sorry,” the child frowned in worry and apology. “My friends say that was rude. I know what it’s like to not have a family. I lost my Mum. But I got a new one, and a Da, and now a brother too. Have you met him? Da calls him ‘Pup’. Mum hates it. You should like it too, since you‘re a wolf. Or would that be ‘cub’? But I still miss my first Mum, sometimes.”

Solas had already recovered his usual equilibrium, “Yes, that is all true, about wolves. They… do not tend to live alone unless they have to.” Cullen gripped Asta’s shoulder, and he seemed to remember their presence, his eyes flashing back to them briefly.

Pippa’s eyes grew darker, and the far-away look crossed her face as she frowned deeper. “You are making my friends unhappy. They say you want to take me away. They warned me this would happen if I talked to you.”

“I want to teach you, where things will come… easier,” Fen’Harel confirmed. “Would you come with me?”

“Da says nothing good comes easy,” Pippa answered, almost impertinently, her eyes snapping back to the here and now instantly.

And Solas… chuckled. “That is true. Still… some things should be easier than they are. And some things should be better. Many things will be extremely difficult no matter where we are.”

Pippa watched him for a moment, “My friends say you are scared of dying alone. That it scares you so much that you‘d do just about anything - even make big mistakes.”

Solas shut his eyes, the shadow wolf behind him drooping in subjugated dejection. Asta blinked, unsure if she should be watching the man or his shadow, and untrusting of her eyes, as her absent arm burned as if she had been gathering rashvine with bare arms, reminding her that this was no dream. “Your friends are… astute. I‘ll make a point of speaking to them more often.”

“Does that mean smart?”

“It does, in the most simple terms.”

“And you think that if you have a student you won’t die alone,” Pippa kept on, pressing her arguments. “Why me?”

“You are the only one I have met who has the ability and at least the partial heritage, for some time. I‘ve made the mistake of trusting those with the ability, but lack the heritage before. I will not do so again,” Solas opened his eyes, and they glowed blue, briefly. Asta gasped as Cullen’s hand tightened. “I have been… watching you for some time, more often, lately, as you begin to explore the Fade instead of staying safe in your tower. You are extremely fortunate in your friends.”

“I thought you were scared of me,” Pippa offered cautiously. “People are usually scared of me.”

Solas laughed - truly laughed, and only a trifle bitterly. “You are only a child. I have nothing to fear from you.”

Pippa smiled back, the gaps in her teeth endearing. “You have a nice laugh, for a wolf.” And then she frowned, “If I go with you, I’ll have to leave Da and Mum and Ian. I’m learning lots right here. Helisma is great about teaching me about animals and how to fight demons, theoretically. Enchanter Rhys is working with me on improving focus, and Petri gives me lots to read. Only some of it is boring. Uncle Bull is teaching me Qunlat, and Uncle Krem, modern Tevene. And I want to see what happens with Petri and Minaeve. He thinks she’s too young for him, but I see how she looks at him, when he’s not paying attention.” She leaned in, slowly, as if imparting a great secret, “I heard they kissed once, but it hasn’t happened since. I‘ve been watching.” Solas allowed one eyebrow to raise, slowly, at the sound of the elf’s name, with an air of vague disapproval.

But instead of commenting, he changed the subject. “I can teach you to control your dreams,” Solas offered. “Dreamers can learn to sculpt the Fade, as well as enter without using lyrium.”

Pippa scoffed, “I can do that, a little. Enchanter Rhys is teaching me.”

“You’ve only just begun,” he claimed. “Enchanter Rhys is still learning himself.”

“Why don’t you come here to teach me? Almost everyone teaches something, here. Even Josie teaches me etiquette and how to bargain in Antivan, and she‘s busier than anyone else.”

Asta bit her lips in order to stop herself from butting in, and Cullen loosened his hands, still resting on her shoulders. Solas glanced at their reactions and told the truth. “I am feared here. If you stay, you will be feared, too.”

And Pippa snorted, “I’m a ‘spooky half-elf bastard brat of a possessed mage‘. That’s what the mean ones say.” Asta choked on her horror. “It’s okay, Mum. Sera put spiders in their bunks. They’re in the infirmary, covered in bumps. One of them had an allergic reaction.” The child narrowed her eyes. “I’m not gonna apologize. They deserved it.”

“We’ll talk to Sera later,” Cullen murmured to his wife, who nodded, even more alarmed. “I had no idea that she was that protective. Not that I really mind, but…”

“But I don’t see if it makes a difference,” Pippa continued, realizing she wasn’t going to be scolded. “I got to live with people, whatever they say about me, just like you. Maybe if they see that I don’t go all weird and spooky they’ll be less frightened.” Pippa shrugged, “Maybe not. Either way, like my Mum says, I’ve got to try, right? If I need teaching so bad, you come here. My friends say you get around really easy, with mirrors. So… sneak, if you’re scared. But maybe you won’t be the bad guy if they see you hanging around.”

“It is never that easy,” Fen’Harel spat out.

“Sera says you lived here for years without anybody getting anything worse than pissed off and bored. So you can, you just don’t want to,” Pippa contradicted. “Why do you want people to be scared of you? You don’t want to die alone, so don’t.”

“It is not that simple,” Fen’Harel stressed. “You are a child, with no knowledge of how this world works. In my life I have done things that… have turned out badly. The People blame me.”

“So has Da, and some people will never forgive him,” the child flashed back. “So has Mum, and she has people all over that want to kill her. You come here. I ain’t going nowhere.”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Asta corrected automatically, and then bit her lips. When he glared at her, she glared back. “I want her to speak Common well. Her language slips when she hangs out with Sera. As you might imagine.”

Undefeated, Solas glowed blue, gathering power into him, “I could make you come…”

Cullen thrust himself between the Elvhen and his wife and child, reaching for his missing sword, even as Pippa blinked, surprised but… oddly unalarmed and even intrigued. “No, you won’t.”

“As if you could stop me, Templar?” He glowed slightly brighter, the power pulsing through visible veins.

“She’s given her answer,” Cullen barked, undeterred. “She’s said she’ll learn, but you’ll have to come here. I don‘t need a sword to stop you,” he threatened.

“As if I would be welcome, on the invitation of a child!” Solas nearly growled.

“Have I ever said that you weren’t?” Asta raised her chin, and shoved her husband aside to see him more clearly. “You abandoned _us_. I tried to make an alliance, with my best agent and eventual successor. You _chose_ to be alone! Don‘t throw your choices on me, as if I didn‘t fucking _try._ ”

Pippa was silent, frowning as if she was working something out, or listening to her spirit friends. “If you take me,” she started slowly, “you’ll be no better than the others. The ones that aren‘t here? They took, they enslaved, they made themselves into gods, built up on the bones of the People. You don’t take people that don’t want to go. You never claimed to be a god, even when people wanted to make you one.” She smiled brightly, convinced in her logic. “So you won’t take me, even if you need me, because you don’t do that. You set free. You’re the key, not the lock, Fen’Harel.” She frowned, suddenly disturbed. “So where is the lock? Who is the lock?”

“Perhaps I am both,” Solas challenged, but Pippa shook her head.

“No,” she stated simply. “I don’t think its in you.”

“A key and lock work both ways, da’lin. They are two separate objects that are united in nature. Many things work that way.” Pippa frowned at that, thoughtfully, and didn’t answer.

“I have never said or acted as if I didn’t respect what you are doing, Solas. I’m just… unsure… that tearing down the Veil is the best option for… your predicament,” Asta tried to clarify, attempting to set aside her anger. “I have no desire to see any people fall to genocide! Not yours, not mine, not even the Qun.  But if you honestly think that destroying the Veil is going to earn you any favors - whether from the elves or otherwise - you need to think again!”

Cullen muttered, to himself more than anyone, “What was it Bull said, ‘Think outside the orb?’”

Solas glowered, still glowing blue, and said nothing.

“I find it doubtful we can stop you, you know too much about us. We haven‘t had time to recruit enough new talent, or learn enough about you and the Veil,” Asta admitted. Cullen growled behind her in disagreement. “But you were once my friend, Solas. I don't want to end up on opposite sides. But I will do what is necessary to protect my child. To protect everyone I possibly can.”

“I want to learn,” Pippa insisted. “I can tell it’s important. Rhys is trying, but he doesn’t understand it himself. But my friends say you can’t always be trusted, when dealing with people, even your friends. They tell me there are other options. Stone Bear Hold’s Augur is a Dreamer, and Mum has friends there. They might teach me, if she asks.” The child’s voice faltered. “If I have to leave, at least then I can see them sometimes. It‘s not that far away from Skyhold. I looked it up.'

Cullen’s teeth grinding was loud enough for Asta to hear.

“You cannot learn this there,” Fen’Harel bared his teeth, and his shadow loomed ever larger. Cullen didn’t take his hand off Asta‘s shoulder. “The Avvar’s magic is a remnant of two defunct cultures - the Alamarri and Tevinter. They will corrupt you. It is imperative that you remain uncorrupted, child! True to your purpose!”

“Is Uncle Dorian corrupt?” Pippa’s confusion came off her in waves. “What Mum tells me, I don’t think he is…”

“He has the knowledge to become so,” Fen’Harel spat out. “He has not… fallen. Yet.”

“Does merely having the knowledge corrupt?” Pippa countered. “You know, and you haven’t fallen, have you?” She looked at him, puzzled. “I think I would know if you were. Maybe.”

“No, but it is… a temptation,” Fen’Harel stressed the word. “A crutch for the weak-minded.”

Pippa leaned back, and drew her Da’s attention. “Da, am I weak-minded?”

Cullen choked. “Not at all.”

“I don’t think I’d make a good blood mage,” Pippa confessed to the Elvhen. “Bull says I have low pain tolerance.”

Asta swallowed her slightly hysterical impulse to laugh.

Solas narrowed his eyes even further. “I admit, I have never seen the attraction. But the temptation to take the easy road, rather than the difficult… great men and women have fallen. Few are those who can practice the craft and limit themselves to only the power they can draw from themselves or the willing.”

“Well, I’m just a kid,” Pippa shrugged. “But it seems to me if they were so great, they would have cared that they were hurting people. You shouldn’t hurt people to get what you want.” She paused, “Unless they tried to hurt you first. Da says that if someone starts something, you got to finish it.”

“You have to finish it,” Cullen sighed, his mouth twitching and shoulders bowing.

“I would have to agree,” Solas replied uneasily, after casting an odd glance at the former Commander.

“You’ll be hurting me if you take me away,” Pippa finished. “So you can’t take me. Ever.” She stopped. “Sorry. I don’t want to make you be alone, but I need to be here.” She tilted her head. “You could talk to Rhys. You could tell him how to help. He‘s not a Dreamer, but he‘s close, I think. He can sense demons, but they don‘t hurt him. His lady is an abom…” she cast her eyes up at her mother. “Has a spirit companion,” she corrected, with a grin. “He’ll probably never be truly sensitive, but he’s more than most. He saw Cole, after all.”

That seemed to surprise Solas and he turned his head slightly to peer at her more closely. “Perhaps I will.” He refocused on Asta and Cullen. “I am not giving up. She is too valuable to be wasted on mediocre instructors.”

“I am aware that the Dread Wolf’s gaze doesn’t fall lightly,” Cullen replied, his voice tight with tension. “But be aware that from here on out, her room will be guarded at night by my dog. The Dread Wolf will not take her.”

Solas lifted an eyebrow. “Such superstitions are not becoming, Commander. You must learn to tell the difference between myth and history. No Mabari was responsible for the loss of my tail. Nor will a dog keep me from meeting your daughter in the Fade.” His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as if he wanted to laugh. “How these things get twisted over time.”

“All the same, it is going to happen,” Cullen drawled, somehow amused as well.

“I’d happily talk to you anytime,” Pippa chirped. “I bet you have the best stories. Even better than Uncle Krem!”

“So many uncles…” Solas shook his head, whether in confusion or in humor, Asta could not say. “There have been many changes, I see.”

“And there always will be,” Asta stated firmly. “I have no desire to see things stay the same. I may want to regain the lost knowledge from the past, but we can‘t go back, Solas. The magic doesn‘t work that way. Redcliffe taught me that, and Gereon Alexius.”

“Even if it never gets better?”

“It already is better! The world didn't end! So we have to keep trying,” Asta’s inclusive pronoun came through loud and clear. “And I, as well, would always welcome your stories. Especially since now I can understand more of the truth behind your tales of the Fade.”

“More, not all.” Solas pulled up his hood - the cloak indicating that he was just another Inquisition scout, even as his shadow still outlined a wolf. “Your decisions tonight make hearing those stories an impossibility, you realize.”

“I suspect, that being human and without a permanent connection to the Fade, the whole truth is beyond my comprehension,” Asta replied bitterly. “As much as it galls me to admit it. Such as the truth that would cause a wolf to imprison what amounted to his pack, separating himself from them forever? Or why ‘Pride’ finds the need to disguise himself as a humble apostate? Or the truth about Titans and why records don‘t exist on them in the Shaperate? Or how the Eluvians don’t just connect the lost kingdom of Elvhenan, but also are capable of crossing the Veil?” She eyed Solas warily. “How did Keiran pull off his little stunt, Solas? I know you know, and Morrigan refused to say. What was that blue light Mythal pulled from him? Why do you glow now with that same light? What have you done?!”

“Enough,” Solas said quiet, but firm. “As always, you have more questions than I am willing to answer, my friend. It would be too easy to tell you too much.”

“I will always have more questions than you are willing to answer,” Asta sassed back. “Just a few more, Solas, if you tear down the Veil - is it going to hurt us? Will we disappear? I know that you see us as Tranquil, or at least as something… incomplete. Is it because we aren’t real? Are we even people to you at all?”

Solas pressed his lips together and was silent for a long moment, moving towards the chamber door. Asta had nearly given up on his answer, as he reached the stairs before he spoke. “It will hurt some more than others, and in other ways than the obvious. As for whether you are ‘incomplete‘, I would say - yes. But you are people, as much as spirits are people. We always agreed on that, from the very beginning of our acquaintance.” His eyes, glowing blue, focused on her from under his hood. “And you are as real as I am, Inquisitor, if… fractured. Though you are less than most. That will have to be enough, for now.”

Asta’s relieved exhalation nearly blew out the candle, making his shadow flutter and disappear into the darkness of the open door, before snapping back into surreal clarity.

“Who will it hurt?” Cullen asked, unclenching his jaw to find his words. “How?”

“You cannot protect all of them, Commander,” the elf replied heavily. “There is always a sacrifice.”

Cullen bundled up Pippa in her blankets, preparing to have her sleep with them. “That is not my title. And I still intend to try, Solas.”

“I would expect no less, from such an honorable man,“ Solas admitted and then paused, lifting his glowing eyes - once more that eerie blue - to meet Asta’s directly. “Forgive me, Inquisitor, I have been rude. Congratulations, I understand, are in order, upon the birth of your son. ‘A child is a blessing to its parents,’ to paraphrase the Chant of Light. But perhaps a ‘learned child’ is more so, after all?” His eyes gleamed blue under his hood before he disappeared into the darkened tower at last, standing not upon ceremony. “Please keep that in mind, while educating your daughter?” And he was gone, once more leaving more questions than answers.

“I hate it when he glows. I had nearly forgotten how… unnerving he is,” Asta grumbled, suddenly exhausted. “Come on, baby, you’re sleeping in our room for the rest of the night. We’ll figure out something better tomorrow. Your Da shouldn‘t have just promised Dane‘s company like that. He might have other plans. He hardly comes home at all lately.”

Pippa was bouncing happily up the stairs already. “I was lonely in there anyway. Ian gets to sleep in with you two.”

“Only until he sleeps through the night,” Cullen sighed. “It‘s too far to walk to fetch him, otherwise.” Asta and Pippa spread out her blankets in front of the hearth, and the child crawled inside them, as Asta settled down next to her, and stroked her hair until she fell asleep, far too quickly to be natural.

Cullen slowly dressed himself in full armor and with his sword and shield at his side, guarded the stairwell until dawn, aware that it was absolutely pointless, given the nature of his daughter’s talents, but unable to not make the attempt.

He met his wife’s gaze, and she smiled sadly.

Sleep was beyond them, but there was only so much they could do, awake or asleep.

 

***

 

Cole clattered up the stairs outside Asta’s room as soon as the sun rose the next morning. “Can’t find it, can’t find it,” he whimpered. “I didn’t want to sleep!” Maryden was right behind him, less put together than normal.

“I’m so sorry for the intrusion! But Cole _slept_ last night,” she hissed, her usual poised voice completely lost in her worry, and Asta paled, rising from her place on the couch, the bed too ominous in the early morning when she finally decided to close her eyes. “I’ve never seen him this upset!”

“If this is what happens when he sleeps, I’m glad it doesn’t happen often,“ Cullen grumped from the chair, as Pippa sat up, rubbing her eyes and blinking. Ian slept on, undisturbed.

“Help,” Cole begged them all, walking over to the bookshelves and scanning them desperately. “Where is it?”

“I’ll help, Cole,” Pippa yawned. “What are we looking for?”

Those words won the child a grateful glance. “You could find it!” He declared, slightly mollified. “You promise you’ll help me? He’s hidden it too well.”

“I’ll look, Cole,” Pippa promised, pulling herself up and moving over to squeeze his hand. “So will my friends. What can‘t you find?”

“ _Him,”_ Cole whispered, and sunk down to the ground, pulling his hat over his ears. “I’m thinking. You think too? It should be there again, and he‘s not. I had just found him!  And now he's gone!”

“Cole,” Asta started, “Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong place?”

“He’s in the stories,” Cole argued. “So many old stories. You know the stories. He should be here. How do you know it’s him, when the names change, and there’s no one left who remembers? He still thinks the same. She made him forget so he could change…” his words trailed off, looking at Pippa expectantly, as if she would fill in the blanks for him.

“Then you need to talk to Petri,” Pippa’s face lit up. “He knows more of the stories than anybody outside of the Dalish, I bet.”

Cullen scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m getting some coffee.  Helping a former spirit remember an Elvhen god is more than I can handle this morning.”

Maryden put her hand out and stopped him from rising. “No, I’ll go. I… need some, too. Watch him, for me?” Her eyes begged him. “I’m scared for him.  This isn't like Cole.  Not anymore.”

Cole lifted his head off his knees. “I’m still me, Maryden. Get coffee. It will help.” He smiled, supremely sweet, and the bard relaxed a little. “I don’t like coffee, remember. Things should taste like they smell.”

“I remember,” she laughed, haltingly. “I’ll find something.  You keep looking.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chant of Light is Bioware's, as always.


	52. Ashes in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "I am the One". 
> 
> "I feel sun, through the ashes in the sky.  
> Where's the one who will guide us into the night?"

“You’ve been working on his reading,” Asta murmured to Maryden, who blushed.

“I… wanted to help,” she nearly whispered. “He wanted to keep learning.” Asta smiled at her. “I hope this helps him,” she sighed, forehead creased.

Cole was still agitated, frustrated when he didn’t understand a rune or phrase. “No! Not _him_ ,” he shoved away the scroll. “It’s not truth, not real. _He’s_ real. Not a story. The slow arrow was broken, the people scared. He saved the children, the only way he could, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough! They wanted a god, not _him._ He couldn't give them what they wanted." Cole rocked back and forth in his chair slightly. “He’s in there, somewhere! I know it!”

Asta exchanged a glance with Petri. “Cole,” she hesitated. “If you aren’t finding him in the Evanuris…”

“It’s just a title,” Cole contradicted. “You aren’t just the Inquisitor, he’s not just the Wolf. He’s supposed to be more!  And less.”

Asta bit her lips. “We’re all supposed to be more, is that it?”

“Yes!” Cole’s face lit up, his eyes bright behind the shaggy curtain of hair. “Yes, you understand! Not me, I made me, pushing through. I’m different, but still trying to be more. But you…” his gaze shifted to include them all, and then stared at Minaeve. “You’re hurting,” he whispered directly at her. “Twisted and tangled, like the vallaslin your mother wore. Mythal written all over her face. They made you leave, pushed you out when you told them what they meant.”

The elf paled, her face white against the red of her hair.

“It wasn’t a lie,” Cole muttered. “Not really. It happened like that. The way you said. You were dangerous to keep. You drew _his_ gaze. Safety is a lie. They all fail you, eventually. _Him_ , Templars, Inquisition…” Cole’s face grew thoughtful. “Fire conjured to scare people away, the only one it burns is you. Da Hale* gnawing off her own leg, trying to get away from a trap that doesn‘t exist.”

“Stop.” The woman whispered.

Asta frowned, “Cole, please…”

“The trap is your mind,” Cole insisted, staring her down.

“Don’t you start,” Minaeve snarled at her, shoving back her chair. “None of you understand _anything._ ” She clattered down the steps, boots hitting every one with finality.

“Petri,” Asta began.

“She doesn’t want me to follow her,” Petri looked up, face drawn. “She’s made that clear. Please, just… drop it.”

Cole’s whimper was the only thing that broke the silence in the library. “It’s a lie. Why doesn‘t she believe me? She _needs_ to forget!”

Asta gave up at last, leaving Cole, Maryden and Petri alone to see if they could unearth the truth Cole desperately needed in order to remember. She made her way back up the stairs to her chamber, hoping that Cullen had grabbed a nap, Ian fussing in his sling. She needed to feed him, and lay him down…

She rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, and stopped. “Cullen!” Chairs were knocked over, paper and objects from her desk scattered, as if someone had fallen against it heavily, and was unable to pick them back up.  Cullen was sitting by the fire, his whole body shaking, and his face buried in his hands. She hurried to his side, and dropped down, cupping his face in her hands. “Cullen? What happened?”

“Asta.” Cullen’s eyes started out far away, but focused, slowly, the pupils slowly expanding from pinpricks to a more normal size. “You’re here. You _are_ here, right?”

“I’m here,” Asta whispered. “We all are. Pippa, draw the curtains please. Your Da needs to lie down. I think we all do. I‘ll just feed Ian and then…”

“Can’t sleep,” Cullen clutched at her. “Was it real? Or was I… dreaming? A hallucination?”

“Was what real?” Asta asked, with some confusion.

“The shadow,” Cullen stammered. “The shadow had eyes. Was that real? Was it the lyrium? I don’t know…”

Asta paused, she had wondered something similar herself. “I saw it too,” she whispered at last. “Whether it was real or not…”

“That’s how the Wolf looks, in the Fade,” Pippa volunteered, finishing her task. Cullen’s eyes, still wide with shock swiveled to her. “It was real, Da. I don’t know how he did it here, but that’s how he looks, all the same. A wolf, with the eyes of a Pride demon.” She paused, “He doesn’t hurt me, though. Maybe because I’m not good enough yet?”

Cullen relaxed abruptly. “So it wasn’t… I’m not losing…” he choked in relief.

“Love,” Asta’s face crumpled. “No. You aren’t. You’re fine. Come on,” she pushed herself to standing, and Cullen took her hand. “Lay down. You have to rest. Close your eyes, if you can‘t sleep.”

“Tried to get to you,” Cullen admitted, shuffling over to the bed, as if his bones ached. “Wanted to ask, but the stairs… shifted. Made me dizzy. I…”  He sat on the bed, and laid down, stretching out in his armor.

“It’s all right,” Asta murmured. “I’m not leaving now. Ian needs to eat. We all need to rest. I won’t go anywhere."  Her eyes shifted back to her daughter, standing. "Pippa, could you let Josie know that I’ll be indisposed for the rest of the day?”

“’Course, Mum!” Pippa flew down the stairs immediately, and Asta leaned back against the headboard, and started to take Ian out of his sling. Her hand shook, and the clasps gave her trouble, but she managed, the baby fussing a little louder.

“Shhh,” she soothed, her voice tight. “It’s all right, Pup. Just give me a moment, then. You’ve been so patient…” The baby nearly lunged for her, and Asta gasped as he latched on a little too enthusiastically.  "Ouch, Pup."

“Greedy,” Cullen managed, his eyes slits as he watched.

“Just hungry,” Asta contradicted. “He’s been trying to reach me for a while, but I hated to leave Cole to it. I should have left sooner. Cole would understand, but I'm a bit hesitant to feed him in front of Petri.” She supported the baby with her prosthesis, and reached over to him, finding his hand. “I'm worried about you.”

“I can endure it, now that I know I‘m not…” Cullen’s voice broke. “I thought I was losing my mind. That I would lose everything - not able to tell what was real and what was dream. You, and Pippa and Ian… I couldn’t bear it if…”

“It was real,” Asta reminded him. “We all saw the shadow.” She squeezed his hand.

“We all saw it,” Cullen repeated, and finally fully closed his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.  Everything is easier when you're here.  Always.”

“I’m here, and I’m staying,” Asta assured him. “I’m not going anywhere. None of us are.”

***

The day was hot… too hot in the Keep, despite the autumn season, and Asta, not for the first time, wished the war room’s windows would open, as Josie droned on about the status of the Keep’s repairs. “As you no doubt noticed, the wall between my office and the war room has been fully restored, with the stone we received from Starkhaven, and while construction has not begun on the staircase to your personal quarters at this time, the materials have arrived, and we wait only for the stonemasons to wrap up their current project. However, given the recent… incursion, it might be best to reallocate the stone into making additional secure chambers for your family. There are a couple of options…”

Asta sighed and looked at the ceiling. It was proving difficult to readjust to life with constant Councils. Five more minutes, she decided, and she would claim Ian needed to be fed - not inaccurate, he always needed to eat - and she would escape to spend some time with her family before her next critical appointment. She let Josie’s words drift over her, without taking much notice, already knowing that she would choose security over aesthetics. She had lived with the damn stairs this long, after all. Replacing them could wait a little longer.

A scout burst in, panting, and she jerked towards the door, even before he started speaking, knowing that something was horribly wrong. Scouts didn’t interrupt in the war room. Ever.

“The tavern - it’s on fire! And there’s smoke coming from the Undercroft…” the scout babbled additional locations, trying to keep up with her as she sprinted down the hallway outside Josie’s office, faster than she had moved in months, the Ambassador only a few steps behind.

Asta was already out the door, and into the Main Hall, staring at the door to the Undercroft as the smoke seeped out from under the door. “Are Dagna and Harritt safe?” She demanded, and then spun back to the facing door, without hearing the answer. “Oh, Maker preserve me, the connecting tunnel! Where are my children and Cullen?!” She wrenched the door to her tower open and then recoiled in horror at the smoke that billowed out, coughing.

Josie‘s hands curled over her mouth, as she realized that the short corridor that stretched between the bottom of Asta’s tower and the Undercroft was flooded with smoke, raising up to her quarters like a chimney draught. “Asta,” she managed, one hand reached towards her shoulder.

“Mum!” Pippa’s voice came from high above, scared.

“Pippa! Ian!” Asta screamed, and tried to break through the smoke, choking and falling back. The flames were being fed by the air breezing through the hall from the Undercroft. She could see them licking at the rickety wooden stairs. “Damn it, where’s Cullen?  Is the nanny with you?”

“I'm here!” He called from above. “I have them, love. I‘m coming down…” The stairs creaked.

“Don’t move,” Asta panicked. “The stairs are on fire! You‘ll fall!”

“Da, I’m scared,” Pippa’s voice quavered. Cullen’s voice, calming, murmured something that should have sounded reassuring, but instead made Asta‘s throat constrict.

Rough hands grabbed at her shoulders, as Petri shoved Asta aside from the stairwell. “Let me pass!” He cast a barrier, followed by Rhys and Minaeve. They frantically began casting ice spells on the flames, the results melting as quickly as they could manage, seemingly having no effect.

“I see,” Pippa started coughing. “Da, let me through.” Asta saw a wavering shadow through the clouds of smoke. There was no way the child could see anything. “I got this.”

“Don’t come any closer,” Asta screamed at her, her voice shrill and her throat scratchy. “Please, baby, don‘t…” A rippling white barrier was cast from her general direction, one that settled gently on the walls of the entire tower. “Pippa?” Asta asked, awed.

“Don’t worry, Mum… I can see it!” Pippa sounded… relieved, and completely unafraid. Asta felt something hit her cheek, and she looked up, expecting ash.

It was snowing. A drifting of flurries, nearly a blizzard of smothering snow, thick and soft and silent, countering the whispering and crackling of the flames. Steam hissed, irritated, but the snow continued, as the other three mages fought to bring the fire under control with their own spells. Petri concentrated, and shored up the stairs with walls of ice to support the steps, and if they immediately started melting, the extra moisture still assisted.

Ash mixed with snowflakes, embers quenched with humidity as the fire was stifled, smothered into wispy smoke, and drifts coated the stairs.

“NOW!” Petri ordered, and Minaeve stared at him, surprised at the sound of command in his voice. “Cullen, bring them down now! The ice will melt, if you don‘t hurry! We can‘t stop it entirely! The fire has been burning too long!”

Pippa came stumbling and slipping first into Asta’s arms. “Mum!” Her hands were like ice, her cheeks rosy with cold and exertion, her mouth bent up into a smile of triumph.

“Oh, Pip,” Asta sobbed and dropped to her knees, holding her daughter far too tightly. “You…”

“I did it,” she grinned, exalted. “I did it. I could just tell!”

Cullen stumbled out, coughing, with Ian in his arms, hacking and trying to cry. “Ian was napping, and I thought the chimney was smoking at first. I opened the balcony doors instead of…” he justified. “I should have gotten out sooner… but…”

“Get to Ellendra,” Asta ordered, still shaken. “You’ve all breathed in too much smoke! Please…” She stumbled to her feet, unwilling to let any of them go, even while she attempted to order them to safety and treatment. “Cullen!” he embraced her and she calmed slightly, “Cullen…”

“We’re all right,” Cullen promised.

“We’ve all got to get out of here,” Pippa wheezed. “The fire is underneath us… kitchens… forge… everywhere. My friends say…” her words were interrupted with hacking.

“I‘m sounding a retreat,” Asta ordered. “Across the bridge, everyone!” Cullen set Ian in her arms. “Cullen, what are you…” her arms came up to cradle her now wailing baby against her shoulder.

“Go,” he ordered. “I have to clear the mage tower. Rhys, the stables! Petri, the library! Make sure you get the Tranquil to leave, even if you have to knock them out to get them out of there! Don‘t let them sacrifice themselves for familiarity! I‘ve seen them do it before!” He faced Minaeve, surprised to see her away from her books. “Minaeve…” he cleared his throat. “The battlements? Tell Rylen. He‘ll know what to do. He has experience with… fire.” Cullen looked vaguely horrified, as if he knew what he was asking of the other man. “Josie - evacuate the garden and Chantry, now!”

Petri made a movement, as if in protest, but Minaeve was already gone, and through the rotunda - taking the shortcut to Rylen‘s office. Petri ran after her, and up the stairs, towards the library, shouting for his mother. Josie had already disappeared into the near door, her writing desk dropped, and the inkwell that usually sat in it spreading slowly in a pool of darkness.

Asta exchanged a final glance with her husband, and sprinted towards the main entrance, cradling Ian in the crook of her arm, ordering Pippa to hold her prosthesis tightly. At the top of the stairs, she spared a glance towards the tavern. It was in flames and obscured by smoke, and in the other direction, Dennet was already driving the horses and other assorted mounts away from the stables, helped by passersby. “Mum, the horses,” Pippa protested.

“Master Dennet and Seanna have them, honey,” Asta coughed hoarsely, and she could hear Ian wheezing, trying to catch his breath. “Hold on, Pup,” she urged the baby. She could see Ellendra, helping the surgeon evacuate the injured from the surgery. That was more important, but… “Pippa, is there still a potion cache in the guardroom by the gate?” She knew the little girl had spent more time exploring the Keep than anyone.

“Yes, Mum,” she answered. Asta turned them in that direction, just to the right of the portcullis.

“I need your arms. I can’t do it, with Ian. I need you to fill your skirt with as many as you can carry,” Asta asked. “Can you do this?”

“Yes!” Pippa was off like a dash, and Asta waited until the little girl appeared before her, her skirt full.

“Good girl!” They crossed the bridge at a slow unsteady jog, accompanied by others, random belongings carried in their arms, and stood on the other side, watching the Keep’s more flammable bits go up in smoke.

“Mum, where’s…”

“Cullen…” Asta breathed, watching him cross the bridge with Clemence the Tranquil held under his arm. “Oh, love,” she resisted flinging herself at him as he lowered the man to the ground.

“I think…” he panted, and wheezed, bending over as the coughs racked him. He couldn’t finish his sentence, that was evident.

“You need one of these,” Pippa said wisely, handing him a bottle. Cullen drank it. Pippa handed one to the alchemist, who drank it deliberately, as if such consideration was unusual.

“Both of you do, too,” Cullen coughed, and spat black into the dust as his lungs cleared themselves. “The tents in the valley will stay clear. We should make our way down there,” he said at last, watching Asta measure out enough of the potion to drip a bit into his wailing son’s mouth. The baby sneezed black, and rubbed his face fractiously with his fists, smearing the soot over his little face as he wailed instead of wheezing. Asta shifted him so that she could pull out her handkerchief and wipe his face clean, tears running black down her face. Pippa drank the rest, and bent over, coughing as her lungs expelled the damaging ash and gases.

“You were brilliant, Pip,” Cullen managed, when he tore his eyes away from Asta at last. “You cast that barrier as if…”

“I knew how!” Pippa beamed. “I reached, and it was there, so I did it! And then when I saw everyone else casting… it was easy! I can‘t believe I didn‘t see before!” Her face fell. “I should’ve stayed… I could‘ve…”

“You were under orders,” Cullen told her gently. “You were ordered to cross the bridge. You did what you could.” They all watched the Keep burn then, huddled together, and feeling the flames of the loss of Skyhold even this far away, watching as it crumbled into a bigger ruin than it had ever been before they came.  "It was enough."

***

“WHO?” Asta demanded the next morning, after both of her kids had been seen by a healer, and their smoke inhalation was treated to the extent that they were sleeping off the healing. “And don’t anyone try to tell me that this was an accident. The Undercroft, and the tavern, and the stables?! This was no accident! Who?! Was it Solas? The Qun? The Chantry?”

“I… don’t know, Inquisitor,” Lace winced. “I’m trying to find out. Bull says…”

“It wasn’t the Qun, Boss,” Bull entered the tent where they were holding council. He looked significantly at Cullen, and then tilted his head towards the tent immediately opposite where their children were finally sleeping, filthy but well, under guard by four Chargers - one on each side of the tent. “And if it was Solas, she’d be gone. We wouldn‘t‘ve been able to stop him. Not with him in full Dread Wolf mode. Creepy ass mother-fucker. Besides, he wouldn‘t use fire. Not his style.”

“So _who?_ ” Asta tried to brace herself on the table, slumping sideways when her weak arm gave way, staring at the substitute map stretched out.

“My best guess is an independent arsonist,” Rylen admitted, wiping his soot streaked tattoos with a damp rag that might have been a handkerchief two days ago. He had stayed out all night, putting out the remains of fires. “Several fires were started at key points - the back room of the tavern, where the spare stock is kept - that went off with a boom. Cabot had been experimenting with his own distillery behind the Rest, and that helped a little too much. Whoever did it, knew. As soon as Dagna and Harritt left to get something to eat, the fire in the Undercroft was set by the spare lumber by the door.” He coughed softly. “They were no expert, that’s for certain. We found several fires that had gone out on their own - the mage tower never even went up, even though there were several set around combustible ingredients.” The circles under his eyes were even more pronounced after the long night. “My office survived, probably from lack of opportunity and relative isolation from burnable materials. The Main Hall is a blackened mess. All those wooden Fereldan statues went up like tinder.” He cleared his throat. “However, thanks to some fancy magic by both Master Cerastes and his mother, apparently the library, as well as the small study downstairs, were preserved perfectly intact. They tell me the spell wouldn’t work on residential areas - it involves a ward that is designed to create a vacuum, so that the fire can’t breathe. Any people wouldn’t be able to breathe either, but the books were just fine. The fires just… died, when they reached the second floor. All the ravens were let loose. We aren’t sure who was responsible for that, either.”

“They have my thanks, whoever they were,” Harding muttered. “Nice of them, to think of the birds.”

“How many people did we lose?” Cullen murmured urgently.

“Too many. Cabot, for certain, a couple of the Chargers haven’t reported in,” Bull was stone-faced. “They were on the second floor when the tavern blew.” Cullen closed his eyes in pain. “Yeah, that.” The qunari swallowed. “Dennet got out, but he’s still unconscious. Slipped on the bridge when one of the dracolisk bolted, got a bump on the head. Ellendra’s treating him. The stable’s hayloft was one of the last things that went up, thankfully. All the mounts got out. His daughter‘s with him. She‘s fine, and all the stable boys are accounted for. But nobody can find that damn isolationist mage, either. Guess that his ice walls weren‘t enough to stop a fire. Sera was with Dagna, so while she cussing mad about her stuff getting blown up, she‘s not hurt. I‘d stay away from her for a bit.”

“I’ll tell Mother Giselle that we need to schedule a memorial service,” Cullen murmured, eyes still shut.

“When we recover the ravens, we’ll notify next of kin. After the scouts have rested, get a few volunteers on that, please?” Asta asked, broken in turn by the news.

“Already done, Inquisitor,” Lace assured her. “My scouts are sleeping in shifts.”

“Josie, how soon can we rebuild?” Asta asked, subdued.

Josie cleared her throat, “I don’t believe we have the funds,” she confessed crisply. “I received several… timely letters this morning, stating that given the loss of Skyhold, many of our key donors are electing to direct their money elsewhere, not seeing the purpose of the continuing Inquisition. Donors such as Ghislain, and Lydes… even our recent successes in the Free Marches will not make up the loss.”

“Shit,” Bull cussed succinctly.

“Rather,” Josie agreed, in a very hard voice for the normally collected Ambassador.

“So it was some Orlesian…” Cullen fisted his hand. “Was it the Chantry then?”

“Not necessarily,” Bull corrected. “I’d like to look at the fires that didn’t take off, Commander,” he said to Rylen. “Can you take me there?”

“I’ll have a lieutenant take you,” Rylen agreed, swaying. “I’ve got to get some sleep and take some lyrium. Spent most of the night trying to counteract fire by dispelling it instead of refilling my bucket. Terrible habit. Couldn‘t seem to stop, though.” He tried grinning at Cullen, his teeth too white against his grey face, his tattoos obscured by soot. “Couldn’t tell what was real, for a bit, there. Thought I was in Starkhaven, for a while, and then in Kirkwall. It‘s got to be the lyrium, Cullen. Might not be long for this job.” Cullen’s eyebrows creased. “Told you I was too old to give it up. Too late now, isn‘t it? Kind of wish I had taken you up on the offer, now.”

“So it wasn’t a mage,” Scout Harding looked puzzled, her small eyebrows dipping in. “Bull, I‘m coming with you. There has to be something to tell us what this was about.”

Asta pushed her way out of the tent without formally dismissing anyone, and started walking up the valley, trying to find some air that didn’t smell of ashes and disappointment. “Everything lost,” she muttered. “Everything…” She made her way up the hill, and across the bridge, seeing the recovery efforts with blind eyes.

She made her way into Skyhold’s garden, to the terracotta pots that she had planted again and again, now cracked into shards. She bent, and picked one up with two fingers. There was no sign of what she had sown.

“Asta!” she heard behind her. “Love!” She looked up. “Asta…” Cullen drew her in and she slumped into his chest.

“These were mine,” Asta whispered. “Elan - before she left to join Solas - gave me the pots, so that I could cultivate some of the rarer varieties on my own. So many times I planted them, and then had to leave them in her care. They were usually already harvested when I got back from a trip, but I would start again, hoping that they would mature, bear fruit, even if it was in my absence. I wanted to help - we used so many potions - I wanted to help…” she looked down again at the shard in her hand. “But this one wasn’t anything useful. I bought a rosebush from Bonny Sims, and was trying to get it to bloom on my own.” She choked and sniffed. “I wanted something pretty. Something that wasn’t just useful, something that was lovely for the sake of being lovely. Something to be proud of, that I tended, now that I‘m here more often. Something that was mine. And it’s dead.” She looked around, as if seeing the garden for the first time. “It’s all dead.” It’s true, the once lovely garden was ashes, the trees charred and barren, unlikely to leaf out again, even once spring came. The garden was blackened ruins, as if no one had ever been there at all anytime in the last age.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen whispered. “I could find you another…”

“No,” Asta broke into his offer. “You don’t understand. I wanted to be there when it _all_ bloomed. When my hard work bore fruit, and was at its most lovely. It will never happen now. I was away from Skyhold at every major holiday, always on business. Always. The closest to a celebration I’ve had for years was the defeat of Corypheus, and the end of the Exalted Council. I missed nearly everything that was beautiful, and for what?!” She threw the piece of pot down, and it shattered further. “Nothing. Nothing will ever bloom for me. I need to stop trying, stop pouring myself into pointless goals.”

Cullen was silent. There was nothing he could say.

“How do we fight this?” She asked, nearly begging. “How…”

“I don‘t know,” he admitted.

“We’ve failed, then,” Asta pulled back, fisting her hand into the side of his coat. “Everything we’ve worked for, that we’ve built, with blood and sweat and tears and loss and sacrifice…” Cullen couldn’t answer. “Where do we even go from here?”

“We send the army to Kirkwall,” Cullen sighed, and kissed her forehead. “With Rylen’s second in command, as he wraps up things here.”

“And everyone else?” Asta’s voice was shrill, and carried further than she would have liked. “Where do we send the mages that won’t want to go to Kirkwall? Where do we send them, Cullen?” She slammed her head into his breastplate. “They don’t have anywhere to go.” Her voice broke. “We don’t have anywhere to go.”

Cullen took a breath. “We take them south, to the Frostback Basin,” he whispered. “You are Asta First-Thaw, they will accept us there. We have several camps - quarters will be tight, but if we have to, we’ll set up in Kenric’s less valuable ruins. In any case, the Avvar will be able to accommodate mages better than any village in Ferelden.”

Asta sobbed a bitter laugh. “We certainly don’t dare descend on Redcliffe,” she teased. “Strictly speaking, King Alistair still hasn’t rescinded his banishment of the rebel mages from Ferelden.”

“Good point,” Cullen sighed. “I guess we’d better not tell anyone that Pippa is a mage until we get Josie to start working on winning him over. Perhaps she can use the argument that Pippa was too young to rebel with the rest?”

Asta laughed then, startling several ravens nearby who were being stalked by scouts intending to recapture them. The scouts muffled curses echoed through the doorless halls and empty rooms. “Oh, Cullen, is there any way to deny that Pippa is a mage?” She shook with laughter, nearly hysterical. “Did you see what she did?” The memory replayed over her eyes again and again.

“She saved her brother’s life, and mine,” he whispered. “I’ve never been so proud of anyone.” He brushed the air out of her eyes. “You should get some rest,” he recommended. “I… I want to lie down with you.” He tilted her chin up. “We’re alive, Asta. And both our children are alive.” He wrapped both arms around her then, to stop her shaking. “We’re still alive, love. We might still bloom.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Da Hale is elven (according to Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen) for 'little fox', assuming I've done it correctly. That's a big if. That was my intention, however.


	53. Goes Up In Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Jason Isbell's "24 Frames"
> 
> "You thought God was an architect, now you know  
> He's something like a pipe bomb ready to blow  
> And everything you built that's all for show  
> goes up in flames  
> in twenty-four frames."

That Bull was with Cullen and the kids when he showed up at the kennels to check on the recovery of the dogs after the fire was unusual. It was only his - increasingly demanding - job as bodyguard that called for his presence, as Cullen extremely reluctant to leave the children.

Bull didn‘t even have a chance to yell as most of the dogs attacked, without warning or snarl. One second he was walking, and the next minute, he was buried beneath nearly a dozen full-grown dogs, each weighing close to 100 pounds apiece. Cullen lunged in, with the kennelmaster close behind, trying in to hoist warhounds off the man, before they could hurt him, impeded by the baby in his arms, staring at the dogs in wonder.

“Hermes,” Cullen panted as he hauled off a dog to an assistant, “Do you train your dogs to attack Qunari on sight?”

The kennelmaster, panicked, answered, “You don’t?” His eyes were wide in horror at the repercussions of the dogs attacking an ally.

The dogs they had removed were snarling, fighting their handlers, trying to get back to their prey. A single female, one Cullen was all too familiar with, placed herself between them and the horned man on the ground, and raised her hackles. Dane, apparently stunned at the reaction of the canines, immediately aligned himself alongside her, growling. The dogs, held back by their collars, reluctantly sat, and then allowed themselves to be led away, back to their individual kennels.

The female turned back to her kennelmates, and started tossing the remaining dogs away by the scruff of their necks - some of them heavier than her - as if they weighed nothing. The assistants hauled them off, one at a time, shutting them behind the sturdy fences erected for that purpose.

As more dogs were removed, a laughing Bull was revealed. “Shit, they broke the skin. You’re gonna have to treat them for vitaar poisoning, Cullen. Stitches has the antidote.  Hope it works on dogs... Koslun’s ass, sorry about that.  Should have been on my guard.” He hoisted himself to his knee, as if testing that it would hold him, and then to his feet, and wiped away a few trickles of blood. “None of them got hurt otherwise, right?” He lifted worried eyes to Cullen. “I was trying not to hurt them.”

Cullen stood for a moment, unable to speak, watching the female dog prance in front of the vashoth, apparently trying to get his attention. “Um, no. No, they seem… fine.”

Hermes was staring as well at the strange behavior of his prize dog. “Right. Fine.” His lips were pressed together, possibly in disapproval.

“Bull,” Cullen started, speaking very slowly, “I think your savior wants to meet you.”

Bull frowned, and glanced down. “This her? She’s bad ass! Damn, she whipped them off me like…” he glanced at Pippa before further obscenities slipped out, and then refocused on the dog. “Thanks, ma‘am.” He knelt down and put one huge hand on her head. She immediately sat and panted at him happily.

Dane sat down, and tilted his head, confused. Then he stood, and approaching her cautiously, nudged her side in the direction of Bull. The two dogs touched noses, and then Dane backed up, and looked up at Bull, barking in warning, twice, shortly.

“Congratulations, Bull,” Cullen drawled, trying very hard not to laugh. “I believe you have a new admirer.”

Bull stood up from one knee, scrambling backwards slightly, “What?” The dog stepped forward delicately, almost shyly, her lolling tongue expressing eagerness. “Shit. Cullen, I can’t… a pretty girl like that? Damn.”

The dog whined, and bowed her head, dejected.

“It’s not like that!” Bull protested. “Fuck, I’m honored, ma’am, but…”

The dog barked twice, eyes narrowed, and teeth showing.

“I…” Bull slumped. “Yes, ma’am.”

The bitch sat back, satisfied, and scratched her ear.

“You’ll have to give her a name,” Hermes managed, stone-faced.

“Dorian’s gonna kill me,” Bull muttered. “I can hear him now. He leaves for a few months, I get Skyhold burned down, and adopt a Mabari. Shit.” He paused. “You’re pretty, though. So it‘s gonna need to be something pretty, so maybe… Orchid? Maybe it will help if I tell Dorian I named her after him?” Bull reached out a hand, and the dog leaned into it, helping him find the itchy spot behind her ears. “Or you know… not?”

“Probably not,” Cullen noted dryly.

“And if she’s gonna be a Charger, then I can call her Hothouse!” Bull brightened. “She’s gotta have a nickname, after all.” The dog whined, apparently displeased.

Cullen winced. “Keep trying.” Pippa giggled, overcoming her shock.

“Maybe a play on Orchid? Or…lais! Or…” Bull’s attempts trailed off. “Shit, Orlais is as good as I’ve got, girl.” He winked, maybe. “But then again, you’re gonna get _Orlaid_ as soon as Dane…”

The dog growled, and Bull backed up, hands in the air. “Nevermind, Ma’am! It’s your business! I’ll stay out of it! Promise!” The dog looked at him sternly, and then went over and licked Dane’s nose, and walked out of the kennel deliberately, tail wagging.

Dane sat down firmly next to Cullen, blinking in what looked like shock, and his mouth falling open slowly, to reveal a happy, panting tongue.

“Looks like she’ll keep you in line,” Cullen mused. Dane barked once, and panted faster. “I wasn’t talking to you,” Cullen started. “But Bull… you might mention that to Dorian. Ease the blow, a bit.”

Bull just nodded, as dazed as Dane, in his own way. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that.” He scratched the base of his horns. “You know, I think I’ll just call her Ma’am. Suits her, since she definitely gives the orders.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “So, about… puppies… if she‘s your dog, tradition demands…”

“Her business,” Bull interrupted. “She can handle it.” He raised his eyes to Cullen. “Dorian’s gonna fucking kill me.” His eyes were scared in a way Cullen had never seen before.  "Dorian is the opposite of a dog person, Cullen."

“Just tell him the best things come from Tevinter,” Cullen advised quietly. “Maybe then he’ll come around.”

***

The next letter - also very timely - was received by the Ambassador two mornings later, after they all had managed to get (cold) sponge baths, and find (relatively) clean, if smoky clothing to change into.

_My dear Evelyn,_

_A reliable source has informed me that you’ve discovered that my precious Laurel had a daughter, and have taken her in. Given her status as my firstborn’s only child, I expect for you to relinquish custody to us - her loving grandparents. I know that relations between us have been strained of late, but I assure you, I have no desire to continue this distance that you have insisted on keeping._

_I understand that besides Philippa (and how honored, my father would have been, that his granddaughter cared so much) the Maker has now blessed us with another grandchild. I’m sure you agree that neither child should remain ignorant of their noble relations in Ostwick. In this world, connections can make all the difference. Any child of you and your husband would need such contacts, would they not?_

_Do tell Maxwell, when you write, that he is being absurd, and that his mother and I never had any intention of waiving his birthright, however ill-advised his marriage. He seems to be ignoring my letters. In any case, the point is moot as his elder sister’s progeny will take precedence. I have tried to tell him, but your mother says he is being stubborn. You’ve always been far more tractable, despite our differences over the years. I trust, given your exalted position, that now you see my wisdom all those years ago. Where would you be now, if I hadn’t put my foot down and insisted you take your vows?_

_I trust, my child, that you will once again submit to our experience in such matters. Your hands must be incredibly full, with both the Inquisition and your new baby. You’ve become quite the world traveler, as well, I’m given to understand. I look forward to hearing all about your adventures upon your visit. We enjoyed the Tethras book a great deal. Obviously the author knew exactly where to draw the line between truth and fiction._

_Your friend Knight-Enchanter Vivienne, the Right Hand of the Divine, has asked to be remembered to you. She will be placed in charge of my heir’s education, upon her arrival in Ostwick, if you are concerned. She assures me that Val Royeaux’s Circle is fully functional, despite the lack of Templars. That prestigious Circle is just the place for our granddaughter, and the surroundings of Val Royeaux are just the place to give her a touch of culture that she won‘t find in the Frostbacks._

_I await your letter, informing us of your travel arrangements. Given the late season, sooner would be better to cross the Waking Sea, don’t you think? I can’t wait to meet my new grandchildren._

_With paternal affection,_

_Lord Oscar Trevelyan of Ostwick_

　

Asta stared at the letter, breathing shallowly. “That…” Cullen stepped forward, thinking to offer comfort, but retreated when she turned her very angry gaze on him instead. “Vivienne,” she hissed. “My father. How stupid do they think I am?” She thrust the letter into his hand, and Cullen scanned it, bewildered. “‘She’ll see to her education’ indeed. I need Josie, and I need to shoot something. Not necessarily in that order,” she grabbed her crossbow, rescued with difficulty from the remains of her room, Dagna’s runes apparently preserving it intact, if still smudged with soot.

“Love…” Cullen’s forehead wrinkled, but he followed her all the same, as she strode towards the makeshift targets set up on the edge of the camp, picking up her other attachment from the snow as she stripped it off and left it lying there as she buckled the other in place, took aim, and fired, the bolt hitting the far edge of the target.

“The letter will go without reply,” Asta sneered regally, somehow sounding more like the noble she had been born than ever before. “As if I would dignify it with a response. ’My dear Evelyn.’ ‘My precious Laurel.’ Oh he loved us, all right. Right into the Tower and then the Chantry, as soon as we weren‘t…” she fired, missing the target entirely with her shaking. “He makes it sound so reasonable,” her voice wavered. “As if I’m being silly. Of course we’ll send him our Pippa, because they know best - when they raised only two children start to finish, and neither of them daughters! Only one of four is still speaking to them at all!” She clenched her jaw. “But of course it’s _my_ fault that ‘relations are strained‘! And this has Vivienne written all over it. Vivienne found out in Starkhaven about our daughter. Vivienne went to Ostwick, called on my parents - she met my mother, at least, at Halamshiral - and happened to ‘accidentally’ mention that I had found Pippa in Rivain. Probably congratulated them on their good fortune.” She reached her hand out and grabbed Cullen, nearly tight enough to cause pain. “Pippa’s not going anywhere.”

“Of course she isn’t. But you should tell your father that,” Cullen said nearly gently. “He’s either delusional or your mother hasn’t given him the full story.”

Asta snorted, “My mother doesn’t tell anyone the full story. That would keep her from twisting it to suit her purposes. But Father is definitely delusional, all the same.” She paused, worried. “Love, you don’t think they actually have a claim, do you?”

“Ask Josie,” Cullen answered, bewildered. “I have no idea how the nobility work these things.”

***

Josie cleared her throat, several hours later, when Asta had finished her raving. “They have a claim. A stronger one than yours, Inquisitor. If they are admitting your sister is firstborn, they are claiming her as heir, and everything that involves. It‘s… quite an opportunity for her, to be honest. Many noble families are doing the same - admitting mages back into the line of inheritance now that the Circles are no more. There’s hardly a noble family in Thedas that hasn’t felt the losses from either the Blight, the Civil War, or Corypheus. It is merely a matter of time until nations and city-states start changing the laws governing such things to reflect the times. My understanding is that even Arl Teagan is debating whether or not his nephew, Connor, should succeed him, though apparently Connor himself is unwilling. He was one of the few mages in the Inquisition to volunteer to go to Kirkwall.”

“Fuck,” Asta collapsed into a chair feebly. “I can’t let her go, Josie. They’ll just send her to whatever version of a Circle Vivienne has constructed at the Spire… no offense, but I don’t want to let my daughter be educated in Val Royeaux!”

Cullen snorted, “In that we agree, love.” They exchanged a look that said volumes.

“It’s Mother using her children - and now grandchildren - as social ladders, all over again,” Asta cursed. “Why can’t Vivienne just let the Circles go?”

“It’s all she knows, love,” Cullen sighed. “She truly believes it’s the best thing.”

“Don’t argue with me,” Asta spat. “She’s wrong, and you know it. Just because she is one of the few mages who didn‘t hate you on principle…”

“It has nothing to do... I wasn’t arguing…” but Asta had already moved on, shoving her chair back irritably, bunching up the canvas floor underneath its legs.

“What can we do?” She sat, shoulders slumping in defeat, her hand between her legs, staring at the floor.

“I’m really not sure,” Josie started slowly. “This is… unusual.  Pippa is happy here. We could appeal to the Divine - who might take our side after her last visit went so well -”

Asta groaned. “Josie… I don‘t want to use what tenuous claim I have on Leliana‘s friendship for a favor!”

“That’s completely unrealistic. The backing of the Grand Cleric from Ostwick would be useful,” Josie added. “But that isn’t an option, I’m given to understand. Perhaps the Revered Mother in Dairsmuid?”

“She‘s hardly a force to be reckoned with,” Asta whispered. “And the magistrate in Ostwick is my mother’s cousin. He’ll side with her every time. Last I knew my Father was having cigars and brandy every other week with the Teryn.” She sat up, and closed her eyes, forehead wrinkled. “It‘s been months since we saw Vivienne in Starkhaven. Why do this now?”

Something wasn’t right. This letter, so soon after the fires… Cullen tapped his fingers on the parchment that held Bull’s report. It spelled out the details: Arson, not magic, fires set in strategic places to cause the most damage, and all in places that Pippa was known to go… “Asta, didn’t you once say there were bards in your family? Way back, in Haven?”

Asta and Josie blanched together, but Asta answered, slowly, “Just a distant cousin, to my knowledge. Philliam. He’s been… traveling, for a long time, and he‘s not exactly young. Why?”

Cullen shoved the report over to her. “I suspect, given this… coincidence, that we have an idea who burned Skyhold. And perhaps who was responsible for the withdrawing of support from so many nobles in Orlais.”

“Maker’s Mercy,” Josie whispered. “I’ll fetch Scout Harding and Bull, and Rylen…” she bustled out of the tent immediately.

“Philliam wouldn’t do this,” Asta whispered, eyes locked with Cullen’s. “I don’t have many family members who I’m friendly with, but he’s a good man, Cullen.”

“Would your brother? Not Max. The other one. What‘s his name?” Cullen was tired, his head hurt, his throat was still raspy and remembering a brother-in-law he had never met was low on his list of priorities.

Asta rubbed her face, “Leonard?” Her face went grey. “Cullen… no.”

“He’s just lost his chance at everything,” Cullen stated simply, “with the simple acknowledgement of Pippa by your parents. His children were next in line, weren’t they? Since your brother will likely be childless? I would guess either his agent is here, or he is here. How long has it been since you saw him? Would you even recognize him?”

“The arsonist wasn’t an expert,” Asta whispered, reading the report swiftly. “The worst fires that caught were in the Rest, where Pippa hangs out with Bull and Sera… but more were laid in the Mage‘s Tower than were lit…”

“And the next worst was adjoining our tower, in the Undercroft,” Cullen finished. “This was an attempt on her life, Asta. Not on the Inquisition itself. They might have intended to trap you, as well…”

Asta shook her head, “I’m the youngest, and disowned. Mother couldn’t have managed that without Father’s knowledge - that‘s probably the only reason Max hasn‘t been… Father has always adored Max, his brilliant son. I’m no risk.” She shook her head, “But Leonard? He’s… Cullen, he’s a pushover. I honestly can’t imagine him caring, as long as his supply of brandy didn't dry up.”

“But did his wife?” Bull boomed in the next minute, shoving his way in with his head tilted so that his horns didn’t catch. “Men like that marry women who like to hold the reins. Cullen, you’ve pegged it. All my guys are watching your kids, Ma’am’s curled up with Dane and Pippa, and Boss, I’ve given orders for that nanny Josie hired to be detained and questioned. She‘s new, and no one would question her hanging out in places where Pip happens to hang out. There‘s even been a recent rumor about her seeing one of the mages. Might be true, might not, might explain why all the fires in the Mage tower weren't lit. I‘ll get it out of her, either way.”

“Shit,” Asta whispered again. “Bull, thank you…”

“No problem,” he grunted. “This bastard got two of my guys. I’m gonna make them pay, whoever it was.”

Asta paced, “We will appeal to the Divine, even before we have evidence,” she determined. “My parents aren‘t especially connected, Vivienne certainly is, but I’m the fucking Inquisitor. Even without Skyhold, that has to be good for something.” She leaned, one armed, over the table, nostrils flaring. “Cullen, would you find me a set of armor that fits? We must have something, even if it‘s just basic scout attire. I… need to look like I‘m in charge again.” She shoved herself back up, eyes sharp and dangerous, and face flushed. “No one threatens my babies and lives. All of Thedas better sit up and take notice, especially Ostwick, and whatever remains of the Circle. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I‘m going to go check that my children are still breathing.”

She shoved past Bull, towards the tent where her children were hopefully resting, under the watchful eyes of the Chargers.

“Damn, she’s hot when she’s mad,” Bull grunted. “Dorian would electrocute me for looking, but Cullen, you’d better still be tapping that.”

Cullen blushed, but didn’t deny it. She was lovely. “There hasn’t precisely been… opportunity, Bull.”

“So make one,” Bull grunted, “Because damn, those tits. Sera noticed, too, I know. She looks so soft… I bet those breasts would just wrap right around…” His eyes went soft and longing. “Does she order you around in bed? Get that little commanding voice going, with that Ostwick accent?”

“Bull, stop,” Cullen ordered abruptly, clenching his jaw. “I am fully aware of the… body parts that my wife possesses. They are currently… unavailable, according to the healer.”

“What, for anything?!” Bull’s surprise was palpable. “You can’t play at all? Fuck, Cullen, I may not be able to have any fun that involves a plus one, but at least my Kadan‘s not just on the other side of the tent. That‘s… that‘s just torture!”

“Play? We…” Cullen pulled himself up short. “Well, no, not with the kids in the same tent, and you know that Asta isn’t going to let them sleep anywhere else. Especially not now…”

Bull started guffawing, and slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over. “You need some creativity in your life! Break out of that rut! There‘s other ways to have sex, Cullen! Other places, if you’re worried about the noise!”

“Not precisely,” Cullen stared up at the tent ceiling above them, the color building in his cheeks slowly, and then spreading down his neck. “But it would be incredibly embarrassing if one of them… awoke just at the wrong moment and saw… Besides losing Skyhold after giving birth just over a month ago, her parents are trying to take Pippa away from us, and I seriously doubt that she has any desire whatsoever to… play. I won‘t push myself on her in that manner.”

Bull just shook his head. “You’re selling the Boss short, Cullen. She needs to release some tension.” He eyeballed the smaller man, who crossed his arms defensively. “So do you. Offer.” The last word came out more like an order than a suggestion.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Offer yourself. It could work. Just let her… use you,” Bull grated with a dangerous grin. “She knows what she needs, what she wants. Maybe it’s just to be held, but I doubt it. You know, the Chargers could watch Pippa for the night… Pup might be more of an issue, since he‘s constantly having to be fed, but…”

Cullen blinked. “I suppose I could… ask?”

“Don’t ask,” Bull shook his head. “Offer. Asking looks like you want it more than she does. She might give in just because she doesn’t want to hurt your tender feelings or some crap like that. If you offer - get it out there - even if she mulls it over for a few days, you’ve got a better chance for both of you to have some fun.”

“You seem to speak from experience,” Cullen muttered, as red as a beet.

Bull cackled with an even wider grin, all teeth. “It’s great fun to just let someone have their way with you, Cullen. Especially when they know you really well.” Bull waggled his eyebrows to make his point. “Get it out there. Have some fun. She’s not gonna hurt you, and you might learn something.” The large man sighed, his face falling. “Shit, I miss Dorian.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cullen muttered, and excused himself, face still burning.

***

“What do you mean we can’t go to war?!” Asta complained two days later over the makeshift war table, an exhausted Rylen, a terrified Lace, and a defeated Josie facing her. “My cousins went to war over a few missing cows only five years ago! If they can kill people over cattle, I can kill people for threatening my kids! They almost killed them! They did kill others!”

“There is a more diplomatic option, Inquisitor,” Josie’s calm demeanor wasn’t helping.

“Fuck diplomacy!” Asta pointed at Harding. “Lace, send a letter to the Divine. I want her formal permission to send her Left Hand to Ostwick, to take my parents, my brother and his wife into custody until we have a bloody idea who was responsible for this bullshit. Then, Josie, I want to hear exactly how Divine Victoria is going to defend her Right Hand’s behavior towards my family. After that, I want a new throne, so I can sit up there with Ian on my lap and Pippa at my side, and judge the lot of them and the bastard they hired to pull this off!” She pointed at Rylen. “Commander, you will be mustering the troops, preparing to send them to Kirkwall.  Let Cassandra know to expect us as soon as possible.  We’ll use that as a front, actually - if my parents don’t come willingly, we’re going to take Ostwick by force…”

“Absolutely not, Inquisitor,” Rylen crossed his arms, the dark circles under his eyes framing the coldness of his glare.

“Excuse me?!” Asta stepped forward, using every inch of her height. She came barely to his chin. To his credit, Rylen did not flinch.

“I did not leave the Templar Order just to follow bad orders blindly, Inquisitor,” Rylen continued. “We are not invading anywhere. I am shipping my soldiers to Kirkwall, yes, but by no means will they be marching or sailing to Ostwick. For any reason. And you‘re mad, if you think you‘re going to be able to raise an offensive against that city‘s double wall, by land or sea.”

Asta turned to Cullen, “Cullen, tell the Commander…”

“No,” Cullen refused. “I’m not Rylen‘s superior officer. Nor is the Inquisition just yours to do with as you please. And if you send Sera to Ostwick, she’ll kill your entire family as likely as take them into custody. She has no reason to offer them mercy, guilty or not. You know how protective she is. They‘d never survive the trip, Left Hand or not.” Asta pressed her lips together, ready to argue. “I’m as furious as you are, Inquisitor, but revenge isn‘t the answer.”

“Sera wouldn’t…” Asta stopped, remembering the aftermath of the mess at Verchiel. “All right, she would,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I demand satisfaction! Josie! Lace! There must be something?!”

“I have already written to the Most Holy,” Josie stayed calm, but her eyes were steel glints, and even Asta in her current rage was taken aback. “I have requested her support, and filled her in completely on the situation as we see it. I fully expect to have her Holy Writ in hand on the subject of your daughter in a few days.” Josie took a deep breath, “However, you should write to your parents, using what tact you have remaining, and inform them you have no intention of complying with their request. If they choose to escalate then…”

“They burnt our home, and tried to kill my entire family. People _died_ ,” Asta clenched her teeth. “How much more escalation does this situation need?”

“You have no proof they were involved. If Harding finds some, we will be within our rights to report them to the Ostwick Guard,” Rylen agreed, moving to stand next to the Ambassador.

“The magistrate is my mother’s cousin, and the Guard Captain my father‘s cousin‘s husband,” Asta managed, almost pleasantly. “The Guard will do nothing. Harding, we must still have some assassins in our midst…”

“Maker, you’re scary,” muttered Harding, her eyes flitting back and forth between the advisors and Inquisitor. “But I agree with Josie and Rylen, Inquisitor. I’ve got a few scouts picking up hints in Ostwick. It seems your family - your family doesn’t seem to feel threatened. They seem… confident, and are preparing for your arrival, despite… everything. I get the impression they think you‘re going to fall in line.”

“I’m never going back to Ostwick,” Asta spat out. “And neither is Pippa.”

“Then tell them so,” Josie ordered, a little more gently. “Niceness before knives, Inquisitor.”

Asta worked her mouth open and closed a few times, and then closed her eyes, looking more tired than Cullen had ever seen her. “Yes, Josie. Niceness before knives.”  She flicked her eyes back open, "But when the niceness fails, Harding, you better make sure the knives are sharpened."

 


	54. Steal my Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW towards the end. You'll see it coming. Skip it if you don't want it - lasts clear to the end. No plot points, and its probably not for everybody, in any case. If you're squicked out by lactation and the use of breasts for sexual purposes, you'll want to skip it. Period. I don't want anyone to be taken unawares.
> 
> Chapter Title is from Seether's 'Broken':
> 
> The worst is over now and we can breathe again  
> I want to hold you high, you steal my pain away  
> There’s so much left to learn and no one left to fight  
> I want to hold you high and steal your pain
> 
> Cause I’m broken when I’m open  
> And I don’t feel like I am strong enough  
> Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome  
> And I don’t feel right when you’re gone away.

_Bann Trevelyan,_

_It is with no regret whatsoever that I write to inform you that I will not - nor will either of my children - be visiting your home any time soon. I don’t know what lies your wife has been telling you…_

Asta stopped. “Cullen, help,” she begged. “The last time I wrote a letter to my parents, it was a complete disaster. I can’t be… nice.” She shoved the paper away from her slightly. “Josie says I have to be nice.”

Cullen set down his book, well out of the reach of Ian, who was burbling happily on a blanket, facing the floor of the tent they were all staying in, and trying to roll over, with limited success. “I don’t know how to phrase anything to Josie‘s satisfaction,” he started, dodging his son. “I’d probably start with ‘Go to the Void’.”

Despite herself, Asta laughed. “Perhaps I should write what you would write, and then write the Josie approved version afterward?”

  
“That might help,” Cullen grinned at her smile, and cupped her cheek, tracing the circles under her tired eyes, idly contemplating what Bull had mentioned before. But the time didn’t seem right, somehow.

Would it ever be right?

“All right, I’ll do it your way,” Asta murmured, and Cullen bent and kissed her, lips soft and sympathetic. “Tell me what to say, and then I’ll behave myself and write the most diplomatic letter that Josie has ever seen.”

_To the Bastard my wife used to call Father, otherwise known as Bann Trevelyan,_ she started again, at Cullen's dictation.

_Go to the Void. Pippa is our daughter now. You cared less than nothing about her mother, and for you to insinuate that yours would be an appropriate home is ridiculous. She wouldn’t even live with you - you have every intention of shipping her to Val Royeaux at the first opportunity, to repeat every mistake you made with Laurel. You wasted your chances with both of your own daughters, and you need to learn to live with regret. Assuming you have any. I’m rather giving you the benefit of the doubt on that one. I don’t think you’re capable of it._

_Despite your many mistakes, Asta is a brilliant, lovely woman and mother who has no equal in this world or the next…_

Asta burst into laughter. “Cullen, I will not write that to my father. He used to know me!” Cullen was absurdly comforted by the use of the past tense.

“What does Dorian say? That if its true it isn’t narcissism?” Cullen smirked. “Keep writing, love. I have more.”

_…or the next, as we have daily proof. Your grandson - who by the will of the Maker and your daughter you will never meet - is the most lovely lad you’ve ever met. At five weeks, he’s already rolling over and blowing bubbles. Obviously, he takes after his extremely intelligent mother, and has the strength of his father…_

“I didn’t say that!” Cullen protested, reading her scribbles with amusement, as he clapped, after watching Ian roll over onto his back so that he could stare at the ceiling, with a wail of surprise after he succeeded, cut short by his surprise at the sounds coming from his parents‘ hands.

“You’re not the only one who is allowed to tell the truth,” Asta murmured, finishing the sentence,

… _and shows promise of having curly hair._

“That’s wishful thinking, love. He has no hair. He‘ll probably be bald until he‘s nearly two. Like Ros. You shouldn‘t wish such a fate on him. Curly hair is a trial.”

_“_ Poetic license, Cullen. He‘ll never know the truth. Besides, I know it will be curly. Mothers know these things.” Cullen’s disbelieving snort was satisfying. “Oh, ye of little faith. Wait and see.”

_Our two children are the most precious gifts the Maker has given us, and I pray every day we do better at raising them than you did. He knows that we couldn’t do much worse._

Asta winced. “That’s really harsh. And he‘ll realize that all that about the Maker didn‘t come from me.”

“Truth hurts,” Cullen countered, his eyes twinkling. “And I have every intention of signing my name, too, you know. Why should you have to confront your father on your own, when this situation involves the entire family? I‘m not just going to let Pippa go live with her grandfather, and I have no desire to let them meet Ian, either. Not when they’ll not so quietly judge him for his common father.”

“As if I’d let them,” Asta flicked her eyes up to meet his. “You’re the one with no equal, Cullen. My mother was blind not to recognize that the moment she met you.”

Cullen snorted again, “She was too busy being preoccupied with Dorian. Not surprising, really. He‘s far flashier.”

_There is no need to take further steps towards preparing for our arrival. We have no intention of visiting Ostwick. Ever. We intend to travel to South Reach, when we can, since a recent arsonist did such a good job destroying our home. Again, we thank the Maker for Pippa, as her talents combined with our loyal friends saved many lives, including her father and brother‘s._

Asta paused, “We’re going to South Reach? When were you intending to discuss this with me?”  Despite her words, she didn't sound upset, just curious.

“After we make sure the mages are as comfortable as possible, yes. Tenting it is proving… difficult with Ian‘s needs,” Cullen huffed. “I was only waiting to discuss it as an option until Ellendra said you and Pup are well enough to travel. You‘ve been discussing Starkhaven as a destination for some of the mages with Fiona, in any case. It‘s only the ones that won‘t want to go there that we truly need worry about.”

Asta blinked at that. “We shouldn’t tell Father where we’re going, then.”

“Oh, he’ll probably hear about it in any case,” Cullen smirked, unable to contain his glee. “Shall we write on?”

Asta laughed again, “By all means.”

_All gloating aside…_

“I’m not gloating!”

“You absolutely are,” Asta corrected. “Worse than anything I‘ve ever seen before. And for no reason I can see. You didn‘t beat Josie at Wicked Grace, did you?”

Cullen pressed his mouth together, “Write this, then. If I‘m gloating anyway, let‘s rub it in. With salt. And lemon.”

_All gloating aside, we’ve enclosed a copy of the Holy Writ from Divine Victoria stating that she believes that Pippa’s talents are best trained not within the Circle, but with her family, and that until further evidence is compiled, no mages are going to be removed from their families without knowledge of abuse or criminal activity._

Asta dropped her pen in shock. It rolled onto the floor. “Did Josie receive…”

“No,” Cullen picked up the pen, tsking at the ink splatters on the canvas. “No, the Most Holy sent it to me directly. I don‘t think she even stopped to call a scribe. It‘s in Leliana‘s handwriting,” he smiled softly. “It came yesterday, by Baron Plucky, who honored me with not pecking my fingers until they bled. I’m having it transcribed now, love. Petri insisted on doing the honors, and Josie wants to send one to every major city in the South and Free Marches, otherwise I would have let you read it.” He handed the pen back, and Asta, dazed, dipped it in the inkwell.

_We remain,_

_Inquisitor Asta and Ser Cullen Rutherford_

_P.S. Tell Leonard’s wife to stop letting her people play with fire. People were killed, and I will never forget. A.R._

Asta sat back, satisfied. “That did help, actually.” She viewed the letter with regret. “I wish I could send it like this. Just like this.”

“So do it,” Cullen dared her.

“I can’t,” Asta sighed. “But perhaps I’ll have Josie handle this piece of official correspondence. Do you think she would mind?”

“I think she would be thrilled that we asked before we made the situation worse,” Cullen admitted. “And she’s bound to make it less… vitriolic.”

“Though somehow I bet she manages to squeeze in the bragging, without sounding like she‘s doing more than imparting information,” Asta agreed, chuckling.

“Impossible not to brag, with children like yours,” Cullen’s smirk was smug. “Exceptional mothers make for exceptional children.”

Asta blushed, “Don’t tease.”

“I thought that was the entire point of this exercise,” Cullen raised an eyebrow mockingly. He debated for just a moment, took a deep breath and then the plunge, “I thought you liked me to tease you. Am I wrong?”

Asta stared at him blankly, “You aren’t talking about the kids any longer.”

“Not at all,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “The offer stands, in any case. You don’t have to…”

His words were stopped by a pair of soft lips, and not so soft breasts pressed against his chest. “You want me to tease you back?” She asked, pulling back ever so slightly so that he could still taste the tea she had been drinking.

_Yes…_ “Perhaps? But not if you don’t,” he immediately countered, recognizing that he was blowing the act of ‘offering’. “I thought you might need a… a break from responsibility, and there’s no place to be alone here in any case… we can‘t just pack up while things are like this and visit the pond, after all.  Though I considered it...”

“Shut it, Cullen,” Asta ordered, and pressed herself to him again. “I don’t care if the entire Inquisition hears us. But… it’ll take some planning,” she murmured. “I’m going to have to feed Ian first, or I’ll leak everywhere.”

“I don’t mind,” Cullen started.

“You will,” Asta giggled. “It _sprays_. In all directions. Such a mess, and laundry is so hard while camping like this. So, after I feed Pup, and then…”

“Bull says the Chargers will watch Pippa,” Cullen mentioned lowly. “If… we want to take all night. Well, between Pup waking up and needing to eat again, anyway. If you‘re comfortable with her safety…”

“All night?!” Asta pulled back. “Cullen, Ellendra hasn’t… but it has been six weeks… I could check in, I suppose, but she‘s been so busy…”

“I know,” he grinned, “But I’m pretty sure we can come up with something that isn‘t disobeying the healer, even if we don‘t have her clearance? It‘s not like either of us is sleeping much anyway, right? Between Pup and… things.”

Asta blinked at him in surprise. “Really?”

Cullen shrugged, “You’re in charge. That way, whatever you’re up for…”

“I can think of a few things already,” Asta interrupted. “Quite a few, actually.”

“Good,” Cullen relaxed. “Tomorrow night? I should give Bull some warning…”

“Tomorrow,” Asta giggled again. “Sounds perfect.”

***　

Josie stared at the letter before her. “You want me to… really?” She smiled ever so slightly, for the first time since Skyhold had been destroyed.

“Well, yes, it needs... help,” Asta emphasized. “Consider this the extremely rough draft, and your version the polish on the gem, as it were?”

“Asta,” Josie’s mouth was bunched up in the corner, puckered ever so slightly, “This letter is no uncut gemstone. It’s a rock, suitable for placing in a trebuchet and tossing at your enemy. I know you are capable of writing a diplomatic letter…”

“Not to my parents, Josie,” Asta admitted. “My words get all… confused and tangled up in my emotions. I don‘t seem to be able to play the Game with them since... Well, I can’t. I only have this - and Cullen wrote more than half of it.” Josie’s face showed no surprise whatsoever. “We want them to know how amazing the children are, and how they will never have the pleasure of knowing them. We want them to understand that I’m never going to comply with their requests. I want them to know that I know exactly who was behind the fires. But I can’t seem to put the words together. I need you to tell them to go to the Void and have them thank you for the honor. And then I want you to specifically send a copy of the Divine’s Writ to the Ostwick magistrate and the Grand Cleric in Ostwick. Please. I’ll let you decide how to address them.”

The Ambassador’s gaze shifted between Cullen and Asta, and she sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. The end result will bear little to no resemblance to the original, you realize.”

“All to the better,” Cullen laughed, feeling free and easy, already looking forward to that evening. “We were mainly having a laugh anyway. It was the only way we could get anything written at all.” Asta nudged him slightly, and then took his hand, leaning against him.

Josie eyed the two of them, and then sighed, envious. “Get out of here, you two. I believe Bull is expecting your daughter?  Just remember - discretion, please.”

Cullen’s blush reached the tips of his ears, but he ushered Asta out of Josie‘s tent all the same.

***

It was strange, Cullen decided, having to schedule something like this. Something that used to be spontaneous, or at least not planned. Finding someone to watch Pippa - a someone that turned out to be Krem and his sister, since Bull was sulking after a recent discussion with Dorian wherein the man, after thoroughly scolding him for adopting a dog without his input, and fretting hopelessly about him and Emily freezing in the Frostbacks without him, refused to let them come join him due to the danger.

Watching Asta feed their son, and try to get him sleeping - a difficult issue in the tent, where there always seemed to be a breezy wind trying to chill them all - was an exercise in frustration.

It seemed to take even longer than usual, anticipation fueling them both, and Ian perhaps picking up on that emotion, making him restless. As he fussed in the makeshift cradle which he was quickly outgrowing, Asta rocking it with a foot without saying a word, Cullen couldn’t help but fidget.

He reached for one of the random books that were piled on the low table that Asta was trying to use as a desk on good days, days when she actually found time to research while being with her family, and flipped through it, intending to read. However, Asta’s tunic was still gapped attractively loose, unbuttoned almost to her waist from feeding their son, and he could see the round of her left breast and the rosy pink nipple still puckered.

Anyone would have been distracted.

He set the book back down, gently, and lowered himself next to her. Ian’s eyes were closed now, and even if he wasn’t quite asleep, Cullen didn’t want to wait any longer.

His wife’s eyes were on him, vaguely amused, eyebrows tilted and raised. “Can’t wait?” she whispered, a touch of a laugh haunting the words.

“No. How?” His voice was guttural, the two words saying more than he could possibly articulate.

“I talked to Ellendra, and she’s… cleared me. You’re mine, right?” Asta seemed somehow… nervous. More nervous than she had ever been. “Is there anything…”

“No,” came the reassurance. “I… I just want to be here.  For you.  You have so much on your plate… I can‘t do enough to help you. Let me do this much.”

She was still rocking the cradle, idly, the movements slowing. “Then I know what I want,” she paused, flushing further, despite the chill. “Lay out the bedrolls?”

Cullen moved to comply, laying one out, with the fuzzy layer of wool in between to keep them warm, separated from the main room of the tent somewhat by a hanging layer of canvas sewn to the ceiling. A mockery of privacy, but better than nothing, he supposed. Asta watched him, and slowly stopped rocking their child, who was resting with his fists up by his ears, with a pouty frown, looking vaguely like Mia. He stopped looking at the sleeping baby, and refocused on her, instead.

She was refastening her breastband, and he was puzzled. She saw him watching, and smirked in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding. If you touch, you’d better be prepared for it to flood the tent faster than a Lyrium Wellspring in the Deep Roads.”

Cullen chuckled, “No wonder Pup is so chubby, trying to keep up with that. No touching, then.”

Asta laughed, but lowly. “No, you can touch. You’d just better… be prepared. I can’t control it if it lets down, that’s all. Thus the breastband.”

“Prepared how?”

Asta quirked an unbelieving eyebrow at him. “Think hard.”

Cullen had a moment of sudden epiphany. “If I… if I did, would there be enough for Pup, later?”

Asta snorted, louder than she intended. “Probably even more. Ian won‘t be shorted, trust me. I should have been a wet-nurse. Still time for a career change, I suppose. I might enjoy it more.” Her expression went dark, her eyebrows drawn in. “I’d probably be better at it.”

Cullen swallowed reflexively, the vision of her breast, taut with her milk filling his mouth incredibly intoxicating. “Is it wrong to… want that?”

“Why would it be wrong?” Asta‘s eyes lifted back up to him. “If you end up liking it, the next time Ian shifts feeding schedules I’ll know who to ask for help. Engorgement is painful and can lead to infection, Ellendra says.”

“I am at your disposal,” Cullen breathed, and Asta laughed again.

“Thank you, Ser Knight,” she chuckled. “An odd quest, to be sure.” They were silent for a few minutes, both awkward and comfortable - a strange juxtaposition that he had no idea how to resolve.

All the same, Cullen moved first, reaching out to slip her shirt from her shoulders, letting it puddle around her waist and kiss the left shoulder gently. “What do you ask of me?”

“I have a hard believing that you’re comfortable with this,” Asta breathed, with a note of dry humor in her voice. “Just letting me have free reign?”

“With no one but you,” Cullen promised. “If you were going to hurt me you would have done it before having my son, before marrying me, before making love to me by the pond, for that matter.”

Asta hummed, “Well, you have a point, there. I don’t want to hurt you, but… Cullen…” she bit her lip.

“Whatever you want,” Cullen laughed into her neck. “Don’t worry, I won’t say no. Even if you just want to be held.”

“Touch me,” Asta whispered, brushing her eyelashes against her cheek and then sweeping them back up to meet his eyes, and reaching out to touch him in return. “I need… I need you to touch me, with your hands, your mouth - to remind me that I’m not just… the Inquisitor, and a mother, and responsible for all of these people. I need to know I’m still…” Cullen was already pulling her closer.

“Still…” he prompted.

“Your lover first,” Asta leaned back, and Cullen eagerly slid his hands under the back of her breastband. “Please, Cullen, that‘s what I need.”

“Is that all?” Cullen muttered. “Maker’s Breath, Asta, you need never worry about that. I’ve been aching to touch you for weeks.” He had only held back because she had a baby hanging on her every spare minute when she wasn‘t being the Inquisitor. And sometimes when she did. That didn’t leave a lot of time. He didn’t want to be a burden. He wanted to be a partner.

But so did she. So that was all right, after all.

They would make time, just like during the war, since they had to.

She hummed, and moved to straddle his hips. “Comfortable? I’m a lot heavier…”

“You’re perfect,” Cullen swore honestly, meeting her worried eyes, with his own nearly begging look. He stroked her sides, and dropped a hand down to her backside, and squeezed, far more gently than he would have a month ago. “You look like you, Asta. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Asta nearly choked with trying to keep her laughter quiet. “Keep going, you’re making me feel better.”

Cullen reached for her laces, and reached forward at the same time to breathe his next words into the skin just above her heart. “I still don’t understand how I got so lucky.”

Asta was full on giggling now. “And I‘m not lucky?”

“Hardly,” Cullen found the humor bubbling up infectiously to meet hers. “You make me whole. You never judged.” He pulled back and looked up at her, almost shy. “I will never deserve you.” He squeezed her ass again, and Asta tightened her arms around his neck. “It’s my turn to be patient, I think. Step out of those?” he asked. Asta shifted and slid out of the pants, not without a sigh of relief.

Cullen watched, and reached out a hand to trace the stretch marks that had appeared in the last few weeks of her pregnancy, pink streaking her stomach and thighs.

Asta moved her arm to cover herself. “Don’t,” Cullen whispered. “Please.”

“They’re…”

“They’re fine,” Cullen ran his thumbs back up her thighs, and laid down, completing the feat easily. “You’re beautiful. Now, how should I touch you?” He looked up at her and swallowed in reflex.

Asta shifted off him, and laid down herself, curling against him protectively. “I… I want you to touch me everywhere.”

Cullen didn’t ask for further clarification, and as his hands drifted down to her legs, and he began to manipulate the flesh, stroking and pressing by turns. Fingertips trailed down to the small of her knees, and then he cupped the joint, pressing with his palms as he drifted down to her calves, his thumbs following a path of his own choosing.

He found himself at the arch of her foot, and he pressed with his knuckles, pulling a sound out of his wife, reclined now with her arm over her eyes. “Do you need new boots?”

“Everyone needs new everything,” Asta countered. “The Inquisition cannot afford to purchase me new boots when it needs the bare necessities, even if the merchants hadn‘t already left for Val Royeaux. My feet are warm, if aching at the end of the day. That is enough, for now.” Cullen wanted to argue, but she was so tense. It wasn’t the time.

He worked the arch of her foot, gently, and then trailed his hands back up her calves, leaning over to nip her calves. A small noise escaped with every tiny bite, released reluctantly. He reached her thighs and stopped. “May I…”

Asta tensed, then released, “Yes. Maker, yes. I meant everywhere, Cullen.” She shifted her arm off her eyes to pin him with a mock glare. “Understood? But… gentle.”

Cullen nodded and moved on, covering her with his mouth, and kissed her at the apex as if he was kissing her mouth, noting that she didn’t react. Thinking quickly, he shifted over, mouthing her stomach gently and rising over her, making love to her with his lips, hardly bothered at her inaction. She was so tense - he had no idea that it had gotten this bad. “May I,” he hovered his hands over her breastband now.

Asta nodded, giggling and relaxing a little. “On your own head be it.”

He tugged down lightly, rolling up the fabric gently.

“Keep it close,” Asta warned, laughing now. “You’ll need something to soak up the other side. They aren’t… isolated, you realize.”

Cullen’s eyes sparked. “Oh, I realize. When I touch you like this,” he flicked one nipple idly, “the other reacts. I’ve known that for years.”

“All right, Ser Know-It-All,” Asta smirked, “See if I offer any more suggestions. That will…” Cullen bent down and took the whole nipple into his mouth. “Maker’s Breath,” she choked. “Dumat’s Silence, Sylaise’s Hearth…” her voice went higher and higher as she cursed by every god he had ever heard of and a few that he hadn’t, as he increased the suction, flicking with his tongue as she ran out of blasphemies and moaned instead, clutching his head.

And then release came, and Cullen swallowed down the milk, holding the cloth to the other side firmly.

“Shit…” Asta’s head had fallen back, as she moaned. “Holy Andraste that… feels entirely different, with you.”

“That would be a good thing,” Cullen murmured, lapping at small drips, and then starting again on the other side, fascinated. “So sweet, I had no idea…”

“Cullen,” Asta clutched his hair, almost too tightly. “Oh, Maker, don’t stop…”

“That’s the second time you have invoked that name tonight,” Cullen teased, and then ran his tongue around her nipple playfully. “I thought there was a rule…”

“Whatever,” Asta arched up and he latched back on, answering her silent request. “Just don’t stop,” her voice wavered. “I think I’ll be able to…”

“Really?” Cullen looked up, grinning, and then lapped idly at the beads still appearing around her nipple. “We never did try that, did we?  After all these years?”

“Not until now,” Asta’s voice broke, as he swallowed her down, and she pressed him down even further, “just don’t bite…”

“Never,” And with that promise, Asta let go, waves cresting and rolling over into breakers. Cullen rose up, and bent down to catch her mouth in a kiss, returned eagerly now. He dropped his hand and tested her gently. She arched into his hand now, and he smiled, stroking and watching her react, content.

Asta shoved herself up on her elbows, eyeing him with calculation. “You’ve asked for it now,” she warned him. “Breeches, off.”

Cullen started to shake his head, “You don’t have…”

“I’m in charge, you said. Breeches off.” Cullen sighed, and slipped out of them, unsure. Asta leveraged herself up further, and tugged at his ankles. “Now, down…” and as soon as he lowered himself, she covered him with her mouth.

And he was gone, the warmth and tightness and slickness of her mouth too much for his control. Her deliberate movements, undulating tongue and the wickedness of her eyes over his pelvis overwhelming him with the deadly combination. “Maker, Asta, you… You’re going to kill me,” Cullen muttered, eyes glimmering in small slits, “And I will cross the Veil singing your name. Come back up here?” Asta smiled softly, and straddled his waist, lifting him up and sliding down onto him, wincing slightly. “Are you…” He rested his hands on her hips, as if to lift her away.

“I’m fine,” her voice was tight. “I… I need this. Just… don’t move.” He sat still, aching but frozen, and trying not even to shudder. She frowned. “Nevermind.” She grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts. “Grab the breastband when I say. I… might have leaks, even now.”

Cullen chuckled, and the movement made her moan, and tilt her hips a bit. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” she shuddered a breath, and circled her hips, faster. “It's good. Laughing is good.” She bent down, “I love your laugh, love.” She braced herself on her arms on either side of his head and shifted deliberately, shivering as she sunk down onto him, making him move his hands away, and to her backside. Cullen caressed it gently, squeezing, and Asta cried out, and reached to shift his hand towards the cleft. Cullen froze, realizing what she intended.

“Are you sure?”

“I said touch me everywhere,” Asta argued, and then drew her eyebrows in, worried, “Is that… too much?”

Cullen relaxed, “No, I just…” he circled with his thumb. “You continue to surprise me, is all. I didn‘t realize you would enjoy…”

“You like it, and I'm curious,” Asta murmured against his mouth. “Now…” he coated his thumb with her moisture and circled. “Maker!” She panted and moved faster, arching back away and pressing on his shoulder with her good hand. “Cullen!”

Cullen marveled at her reaction, staring at the flush on her chest and neck. He moved his thumb carefully.

“Shit,” Asta panted. “Again.” She lost herself over him, moving and moaning impatiently, and he obeyed. Again and again, watching her wind up and then release around him in a moaned version of what might have been his name on a different day, slumping against and shaking afterward, clutching at his neck.

She slid off of him, and they both whimpered. “Shhh,” she whispered. “I won’t leave you… I just… need a break after that,” she chuckled, shaking. “Everything is still… a little tender.” She kissed him gently and wrapped her hand around him. “What do you want?  You're very good at following instructions…”

Cullen pressed himself into her hand, unable to control himself, stiff with the effort to stay still. “Please… I need…”

Instead of stroking, Asta moved down her mouth and took him again, sucking and pulling him taut, her eyes meeting him over his stomach. The combination of the heat and friction and the knowledge she was tasting herself on him was too much, and he slid over the edge with a grunting thrust far too quickly.

Asta reached for the discarded breastband, and wiped him down gently. “I should have planned better,” she mused ruefully. “All the clean cloths are on the other side of the tent, and I haven’t started taking the potion again… I‘ll start again tomorrow, as soon as I can figure out where the alchemists have been set up.”

Cullen exhaled. “This… is perfect, love. Maker’s Breath…”

Asta sighed, and reached over, to root in her nearby bag for another breastband. “Believe me, love, the feeling is mutual. Now, help me with this thing. After that, my hand is shaking, and there‘s no way I‘m going to be able to manage it on my own.”

“And I will?“ Cullen lifted his hands, the tremors clear, laughing, and didn’t stop, even when Ian woke with the noise and cried his protest, while they both cursed their shaking hands, abandoning the breastband in favor of Cullen soothing their baby while Asta found cloths and cleaned herself up.

Eventually they both collapsed against each other, breastband back in place, curled around each other and Ian, warm and safe, with muttered whispers of solace overcoming the wind wuffling the edges of the tent, dropping them into a sated sleep.

None of them woke until morning dawned, bright, cold and clear.


	55. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm celebrating my birthday month by posting too early and too often on all my projects. It's my party, let me introvert like I want to, until forced to be social, all right? It will happen all too soon.
> 
> But for those of you who are subscribed, don't be alarmed. I'm way ahead on most of them. I've just been trying to show some self-control.
> 
> Self-control is overrated.

“Boss, we’ve got trouble,” Bull was blunt as he pushed himself through the flap of the tent, and Asta sighed, and pushed herself to her feet from the low table. Bull eyed her, nodding slightly in approval. “You look better. Cullen did good.”

Asta sighed, “You had something to do with that, then? I thought it was unusually forward of him…”

“All Cullen,” Bull corrected. “I don’t know anything. Just told him he was selling you short, is all.”

“Thanks, I suppose. I think I needed it,” Asta left the tent, pulling her woolen cloak around her and her son, sleeping in his sling. “What’s going on, then?”

“We’ve got… a couple of confessions,” Bull admitted, scratching around one of his horns. “You’re not going to like the second one, probably. It’s complicated. We got the nurse talking - she was hired, exactly by who we thought, and you don’t have to see her. Probably shouldn’t, until the hearing, honestly. It‘ll keep the rumors down, this way. Don‘t need it to get around. Pippa doesn‘t need to know, it would break her, thinking it was her fault people died.  Rotten thing to do to a kid.” Asta nodded in cold agreement. “But the other…” he hesitated. “Well, see for yourself,” he swung open the tent flap, only to reveal a familiar face.

“Minaeve?” Asta’s voice broke. “Why?”

The girl lifted her head.  She wasn't bound, but sat in one of two chairs, her arms wrapped around her, with a blanket tossed over her shoulders, probably provided by Bull, whose version of interrogation was more effective than most.  “I didn’t set any fires, Inquisitor,” her face was stone. “But if the fires were set by an agent of Fen’Harel, I can no longer sit on the sidelines while the People attempt to harm innocent children and Tranquil. I lost friends, and you…” her voice broke, “Your husband tried to save the Tranquil, even against their will. He saved Helisma, Clemence, so many of them, when even I couldn’t persuade them to leave their duties…” her eyes, full of tears, dropped away from Asta’s, and she fought to put a degree of fierceness back into her voice, still hoarse from smoke and coughing. “You’ve saved them. Twice. Once from Corypheus turning them into ocularum and once from… him. I won’t work for someone who holds their lives so cheaply. No knowledge is worth that.”

Asta pulled up the remaining chair before her knees could give out. “Bull, did we know Minaeve was an agent of Fen’Harel?”

“Yup,” Bull’s voice was hard. Minaeve flinched. “Hard to miss. She was studying the Veil, nearly from my first day on the job, Boss. Soon as we started looking for moles, we found her.”

“What information has she passed on?”

Bull snorted, “Not much. Hasn’t reported at all, lately, that I can see.” He weighed the elf deliberately. “She’s a smart one, though. She’s been leading Petri on a merry chase, giving him just enough information to keep him thinking he’s almost got it figured out.  Not misleading, just... giving certain things emphasis. Got to respect her, she makes quite the honeypot.” The woman flinched again.  "But then I was always partial to redheads."  He winked at the girl then, but she just stared at him in silent resentment.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense?” Asta‘s voice cracked like a whip.

“I just wanted to be safe,” Minaeve whispered. “That is not a defense, I know. Fen’Harel offered, spoke of amazing, impossible things, the renewal of all the People used to be, erasing all that we've become, and with the Templars all but gone… I just wanted to study. He knows so much about the Veil…” She closed her eyes. “I’m guilty. I will confess anything you like. But in exchange, I want you to make me Tranquil, Inquisitor, and use the information, skills, and focus I develop for your cause.”  She bowed her head then, opening her eyes to stare at her lap.

Asta watched her with ice in her eyes. “As it turns out, it wasn’t Fen’Harel who set the fires, Minaeve.”

The girl raised her eyes, surprised, “But he‘s…”

“It wasn’t him,” Bull rumbled reluctantly.

“Then who?” Minaeve’s voice cracked. “So many are dead. Please, let me…” a broken sob escaped her, and she buried her face in her hands.

“We’re all grieving, and you’re not the only person blaming yourself,” Asta sighed, far more sympathetically. “But Fen’Harel was not guilty. Not of this, at least,” Asta stood up. “I’m denying your request,” she stated firmly. “No mage will be made Tranquil in my Inquisition. Tranquility was never meant to be a punishment. Instead, you will continue your work with Helisma, and help care for those who are still injured. You will be watched. Closely. In addition, I would like you to tell Bull and Petri everything you know about Solas’ future plans.”

Minaeve lunged forward, aborting the movement as Bull stepped in front of Asta - a solid shield. “I want to be Tranquil! I deserve it! I’m not strong enough, not controlled…”

“If you insist, you will start training for a Harrowing, under the tutelage of Archivist Cerastes. His skill set is similar to yours, and yet he doesn’t fear his magic.” Asta raised her chin. “You will be Harrowed, and thus prove your abilities are not anything for us - or you - to fear. Bull, could you ask Commander Rylen how long it will take him to prepare?”

Bull fidgeted, “I guess, Boss.”

“Thank you,” Asta turned away. “Minaeve, the people responsible for this are going to pay. I am not at liberty to say who was responsible, but I swear to you…” she swiveled her eyes back to the other woman, “I swear, I want justice for this crime more than anyone in Thedas. Tell Bull if you want to be part of it.” And she left the tent, hand clenched in a fist. “We could use you.”

***

Petri burst into her tent a few hours later, fuming. “This is intolerable!”

“Good afternoon, Petri,” Asta rolled her neck, fatigued, and set down her quill gently, after wiping it clean. “I suppose this is about Minaeve?”

“You’re meddling,” his eyes narrowed. “We were managing to work together again, barely, and now Bull tells me I’m supposed to train her for a Harrowing? A Southern Harrowing, no less, that barbaric practice with Templars standing over her body with swords drawn while she remains defenseless and unaware! You’ve made a lot of questionable decisions in the past, Inquisitor, but this is... intolerable!”

“You said that,” Asta sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose, “Petri, I have no intention of letting Minaeve die. But she fears herself. A mage afraid is a mage at risk, yes?”

“Yes,” Petri clenched his jaw. “And you’ve made that fear about ten times worse with this…”

Asta’s impatience boiled over, and she lifted her eyes to glare at him, “You’re supposed to be intelligent,” she hissed. “Don’t you see? I’ve arranged this in the only way that Minaeve will see that she doesn’t have to panic every time she meets a demon in the Fade! And you’re going to train her! A mage who prefers to study, not fight. One who manages his own talents perfectly well and doesn’t fear falling asleep every night! She needs a Harrowing, for her own piece of mind! What the fuck do I have to say to get that through your head?!”

Petri took two steps back. “You want me to teach her…”

“Minaeve and Helisma know more about defeating demons than any other people in the Inquisition,” Asta spat. “If Minaeve can’t defeat a demon in her Harrowing, no mage can. You are there to make her realize it’s about strength of will, not muscle. Teach her how to pass her Harrowing, Petri. I’m counting on you.” She turned away, and picked up her pen. “I don‘t like the practice of Harrowing any more than you do. But Minaeve needs this. I only wish I had seen it long ago, before… but that’s irrelevant. Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do. Like arrange for more than half our mages' travel to the Free Marches. You should go.”

Petri, stunned, backed out of the tent, still frowning.

Asta sunk her head onto her hand, and wondered if, after all, she was doing the right thing for anyone, much less Minaeve.

Lately it seemed like all she did was make mistakes.

***

The wagon lurched forward, and started heading South, following what roads traced through the Frostbacks, followed by half the Chargers, serving as bodyguards for the Inquisitor and her family, and the Inquisition’s advisors. The College had elected to withdraw to Cumberland - minus Fiona, who had been voted out as Grand Enchanter in one of the few decisions that the College had made, and also without the isolationist representative, who apparently had been either lost in the fire or had left in the resulting chaos without telling anyone - traveling to Jader with the remains of the army, led by Rylen’s second. A good portion of the mages, those with a desire to travel, had opted to relocate to Starkhaven, and a few even to Kirkwall, to support the Seekers. The rest were all mounted and willing to stay in the Frostback Basin, as guests of Stone Bear Hold, at least until Spring.  By then, Asta hoped that Josie would have made some progress with King Alistair, and his blanket rejection of all the rebel mages, as the current state of finances, though not dire, suggested that Skyhold wouldn't be back to normal for several years.

Asta fretted over Ian, who showed a tendency to bite his little woolen mitts off his hands, and then cry because his fingers were cold. Even carrying him flush against her chest, her leather armor and a scavenged wool cloak two sizes too big wrapped around him wasn’t enough to cut the wind’s bite. The snow had started a week ago, and it was becoming harder and harder to keep him warm. Even Cullen was shivering, since he was regularly draping his wife in his own fuzzy cloak, in an attempt to make it easier for her to feed their son without turning blue. His son didn’t like to be covered while eating, which didn’t help matters.

Pippa was spending a lot of time practicing lighting fires, doing her part to keep what remained of the Inquisition thawed. For once, her magical abilities had made her more popular with her peers, and she regularly had several familiar children hanging around her, staying warm with the fires that she was lighting in makeshift firepits.

Pippa, at least, was happy with this sign of acceptance, but Asta was troubled. The lack of a good base had made them lose Haven. They needed somewhere defensible, and there was nothing. The Avvar would give them guest status, and Asta was kin, but the rest of them… she couldn’t guarantee that someone wouldn’t try again. Could she place an ally in danger that way?

Asta had judged the arsonist before their departure, and sentenced her to work cleaning up red lyrium in the Emprise - a increasingly common judgment, and one easy to follow through on. Possibly she was becoming less creative in her sentencing. But she wouldn’t have this woman anywhere near her family, so imprisonment was completely out, even if she had the facilities to house her.  She didn't want to waste the money sending her to Kirkwall, either.  She had killed innocent people - Cabot was just doing his job, and doing it well when she had killed him. The Chargers were only doing what the Chargers did, relaxing between jobs.  Every single loss was a strike against her family, for hiring her in the first place.

She had only, by extreme use of self-control, kept herself from executing her publicly. The execution would have been an excellent object lesson for her parents and brother, and there was more grumbling than usual after she stayed her hand, some of it her own.  Only Josie’s remembered whisper of ‘Niceness before knives’, as if she had become Leliana, motivated her to spare her life.

She had to trust that Josie had something better in mind for the true guilty party, once they were caught in their own web.

But it was a long, cold hard trip, even without a pricking conscience. Their messengers returned from Stone Bear Hold, with the formal granting of guest status to the Inquisition’s inner circle and mages, and a special note from the Augur, in Kenric's handwriting, no doubt dictated to the scholar.

He wanted to meet Pippa. Somehow Asta wasn’t surprised that he knew about her already. She handed the note to Cullen, who cursed.

“Will it always be like this? One person after another, wanting to use our Pippa?”

“I doubt the Avvar want to use her,” Asta contradicted. “The Augur is a Dreamer himself.”

“He wants to have her possessed,” Cullen hissed angrily. “Take who she is and subsume her - make our Pippa disappear, driven by something _other_! The sort of thing that only causes pain!”

Asta sighed, “Love…”

“Don’t argue with me! You know what they do to their mages here! They look so innocent, so normal… but all along they are harboring abominations,” Cullen spat, and then stopped, horrified at his own words. “I didn’t mean…”

“But that’s what you said,” Asta was stone-faced now. “You don’t need to explain yourself. I’m going to speak with the Augur. And I’m taking Pippa with me. In the end, its her decision.” Asta pushed Ian into his arms. “But you should think about what you just said, and think hard what happens if Ian turns out to be a mage too, however unlikely.” She grabbed her cloak. “You are welcome to follow me, if you can keep your prejudiced mouth shut.  Don't bother otherwise.”

Cullen stared down at Ian, whimpering at the sudden change of arms. “It shouldn’t make a difference,” he told his son. “She’s our Pippa.  I know that.” He sat down, shifting Ian in his arms. “I just want to keep her safe.” He ran a shaking hand over his face and Ian started to cry.

***

The Augur was found in his hut, the air thick with herbs and strongly smelling smoke. Pippa coughed, her lungs still easily irritated. The mage waved his hand, and the smoke was stifled, a blanket of snow quenching it, and the steam hissing up from the embers. He waved another hand, and another fire, this one far less aromatic, rose to warm the already cooling building.

“Augur,” Asta bowed. “I was told you wanted to meet my daughter.”

“I do,” the man’s eyes were closed, the rest of his face obscured by his mask and hood. “The gods are talking about you, Pippa Astadotten.” He opened his eyes and they landed on the little girl. “They would like to teach you.”

“I don’t want to leave my family,” Pippa looked down. “My friends say you are a nice man, a good teacher, too. But I don’t want…” her words trailed off. “I’m beginning to think what I want is impossible.”

Asta bit her tongue.

“It depends,” the Augur frowned. “You could accept the teaching spirit, and then leave with it. You seem to be in balance. I don’t see that you are a danger, and you have your own gods to instruct you. You are not Avvar, there is no need for you to learn all our ways.”

Cullen pushed open the door, Ian still in his arms, and the other three stiffened. “Cullen, we haven‘t decided anything,” Asta explained defensively. “We had just started.”

“I’m not going to be left out of this conversation. Pippa is my daughter, too,” Cullen folded his arms around Ian protectively and shifted his stance. “So talk, Augur. What does this involve?”

“The child would accept a teaching god, and it would instruct her in control, focus, and balance,” the Augur explained carefully. “After a time, she will return to our village, and we will banish the god, as she will not need it any longer.”

“And if the spirit doesn’t wish to go?” Cullen argued, breathing heavily and sweating, holding his son a little too tightly, and making the baby squirm. “How often does that happen?”

“It is more usual for the mage to wish the spirit to remain,” the Augur raised his eyebrows. “It can be a shock, for a mage to lose the god. Many become attached.”

“And if that happens?” Cullen clenched out. “What then?”

“The mage falls asleep, and does not awaken,” the Augur admitted. “It takes willpower for a mage to expel a demon. Without will, there is only death.”

“That is not an option,” Cullen argued instantly. “So this is not an option. Thank you for your time, Augur. We’re leaving.” He stepped forward, intending to collect Asta and Pippa. Instead, Asta took Ian from him. “Asta…” he protested.

“You need a break. Go outside,” she said bluntly. “I’ll hold Ian for a while.” She refused to meet his eyes.

“Da,” Pippa started. “I need to learn, and this is the only way to stay with you.”

“Nonsense, you have instructors! Surely we can find…”

“There are no known Dreamers other than Solas and the Augur in the South,” Asta reminded him, too quietly and still not looking at him. “Pippa needs to learn, Cullen.”

“I can’t let this happen, Pip,” Cullen’s forehead wrinkled. “Possession would change you…”

“It didn’t change Evangeline,” Asta pointed out, jaw clenched.

“Then get Cole!” Cullen argued. “Have him come in here, ask around…”

“Da, my friends already did that,” Pippa whispered. “The spirits here are… old. Older than any I’ve met. They’ve been doing this…” she shook her head, awed, “The ages don’t go back that far.”

Cullen blanched, “Sweet Andraste.”

“Yes,” Pippa whispered. “Her, too.” Cullen took a deep breath, understanding. “When her sister died… things happened, before she returned to her tribe. They know the story. She was fortunate. It could have gone far worse.”

Asta’s head swiveled. “Really?” she started, “Pippa…”

“Later, Mum,” Pippa giggled despite herself and the serious topic. “I know you’re curious, but…”

“I don’t want you to do it,” Cullen whispered, his eyes shifting back and forth between Asta and his daughter. “Surely we don’t need to decide right his minute?! If we‘re patient…”

“If I don’t do this, I will either have to travel to Val Royeaux, or join Solas,” Pippa’s eyes begged him. “I don’t want to leave, Da. Please.”

“I do not need a father’s permission to perform the ritual, only the mage‘s,” the Augur pointed out, his voice deep and sympathetic. “I am a father, I understand the… desire to protect. It does you credit, mate of First-Thaw. But a parent has to let go.”

“She’s too young,” Cullen argued. “A Circle mage isn’t Harrowed until…”

“Not too young. It’s the right time, the portents are perfect. And your Harrowings are stupid tournaments that thrust an unprepared warrior into battle against an unknown enemy,” the Augur insisted. “The Lady of the Skies is with you all. I have no reason to believe that all will not be well. Her will is strong. An untaught mage is a danger to themselves and their clan. It is better to perform the ritual while she is young, with few distractions that could result in the gods turning.”

“Like Hakkon?” Cullen gripped his sword, sweating heavily and muscles quivering with tension, “Is _that_ what you want to invite, Pippa? Asta! You can’t allow this…” Oddly, the Augur started to laugh.

“Among the Avvar, it’s not my choice, Cullen. It is Pippa‘s alone. I am only here because I am kin of the hold. I’m a sponsor, if you will. Pippa is my daughter, and therefore… almost kin,” Asta watched the Augur try to regain his control.

The Augur scoffed, huffing through the last of his amusement, “Hakkon has no interest in your daughter. He is weak. This winter is too mild by far for him to gain his strength back. The teaching gods are far more patient and kind. He will find a different host, perhaps, in time. A long time,” the mage rumbled, still amused.

“Da,” Pippa stepped over, and pulled his hand loose from his pommel. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, but you’re just a little girl,” Cullen’s voice broke. “This sort of decision…”

“Then when, Da? When I’m grown, and seen things that hurt me, like you? When I’m cynical, and hard? I want to live, and… without a teacher it isn’t likely,” Pippa insisted. “I don’t want to be possessed. I want to _learn._ ” She took a deep breath. “You can’t protect me forever.”

“I can try,” Cullen argued weakly.

“I still don’t want to see the bad ones,” Pippa’s eyebrows were drawn in. “They will listen. I will make them.”

The Augur chuckled, “She has a strong will. Better and better.”

“Can you guarantee that these spirits will not teach her…” Cullen hesitated.

“Our tribe does not teach blood magic, lowlander,” the Augur’s amusement had faded away, and he sounded far less tolerant. “Do not make the mistake of insulting our gods and traditions.”

“Forgive me,” Cullen met the man’s eyes, chastened.

“It is not me you have insulted,” the Augur waved his arm at nothing. “The gods listen.”

Pippa sighed, “Augur, I would like to take some time, if you please. Perhaps talk to the… gods here, and ask them some questions?”

The Augur nodded. “They will talk to you. But do not wait too long, Pippa Astadotten. You need to be taught. And soon.”

***

That night, Cullen dreamed. He was sitting by a fire in the Augur’s hut, next to Pippa, with strange people and animals surrounding her. She asked them questions, and he reached out to touch one, curiously unafraid, the words she was using unclear.

The dream was odd, different. Off.

“Da,” Pippa looked at him, coming into focus very slowly, her eyes the sharpest thing in the dream.  They were twinkling. “You’re doing well.”

“This isn’t real,” Cullen said slowly.

“It’s as real as you can make it. But you don‘t like your dreams to be real,” Pippa laughed, and took his hand, just as she had earlier. “My friends thought bending this rule was worth it, to reassure you. Hope isn’t the only benevolent spirit, you know. You’ve heard Rhys talk about Determination, and Patience, and Mercy…” She nodded her head in the direction of two animals and…

“Wynne?!” Cullen scrambled backwards, trying to clutch Pippa to his chest, to drag her away with him. “No. You’re… dead. Rhys and Evangeline were clear…”

The woman sighed. “I am Mercy. You should recognize me, Ser Cullen.”

“I… do…” Cullen whimpered.

“Don’t be afraid of Mercy, Da,” Pippa urged him. “It’s… like a mask. She’s not hiding, though, she’s just… making it easier to see who she is. Like the Orlesians. Sort of?”  She sighed.  "That was the wrong thing to say to reassure you, wasn't it."

“Easier. Right,” Cullen attempted to breathe. “It’s… nice to see you again? I guess?”

Wynne looked skeptical. “Quite.”

Cullen looked around him at the gathered spirits, shoulders hunched. “I suppose I owe you all an apology?”

The Druffalo called Patience rumbled, “I like this one.” The Determination goat bleated in agreement.

Pippa giggled. “The others are new, Da, but they’re nice.”

Cullen recovered a little, “Pippa, you aren’t supposed to intrude on others’ dreams.”

“I’m not. You weren’t having the dream. I was. I… invited you into mine. Like Rhys. It’s a lot harder, with you,” Pippa did look tired, and as if she was struggling. “There’s something about you that makes me have to fight to keep you here. I don’t think it will last long, but I wanted you to see. So you’d worry a little less, maybe.”

Cullen lifted their hands and looked at them, linked together, becoming clearer, while he focused. “I don’t want to lose you, Pippa. Not to any… friend. Demons change people. Wouldn‘t a spirit do the same thing?”

“People change anyway,” Pippa sighed. “You’ve changed. Mum’s changed. Everyone changes. Only Solas has stayed the same. I’m not sure he can change, though Mum’s going to keep trying. That’s why he’s not the right teacher. You heard Cole after his visit, _‘She made him forget, so he could change.‘_ Do you understand? To learn, I have to change. For the better, not the worse.”

The goat nodded.  It was a bizarre gesture to come from a farm animal.

Cullen let go of her hand and reached out to touch the Druffalo. “It’s soft,” he said, surprised, and met the animal’s patient eye.

“We will stay with her,” the Druffalo rumbled. “We are her friends.” The goat and Mercy-Wynne nodded agreement.

“And when she’s done, you’ll leave her?” He asked the others, heart beating in his ears as his body struggled to wake him up.

“They will,” Wynne answered for them. “They are very developed for our kind, due to their interaction with the other side on a daily basis. Pippa will not have the problems of Anders. She will not end up in thrall to a Desire demon, or trapped in Sloth, or lost in Vengeance,” she turned her eye on the child, “She does not seek Justice, or selfish desires, or an easy path.”

“I want a lot of things,” Pippa grinned at the spirit cheekily.  It clucked at her, amused. “Da, mostly I just want to live!” One of the new spirits drifted towards her slightly, and she reached out to it. “Determination started out like this,” she explained. “She became a goat when I asked.” She looked up at him again. “I need to get stronger, Da. They’ll help me.”

“What… aspect are you?” Cullen asked the spirit directly, and awkwardly.

“Survival,” the spirit sighed.

“That’s a practical choice,” Cullen admitted. “And are you…”

“Several of us are interested, but it is her choice,” the spirit answered easily. “We don’t come unless we’re asked. That‘s how it‘s always been. The mage invites, and we answer. Nothing happens unless they are willing.”

Cullen turned back to Pippa, bothered by this assertion. Did that mean every abomination _ever_ had allowed... “Let me wake up, Pippa. We’ll… we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Pippa hesitated. “Are you mad at me?”

“Not yet,” Cullen gritted his teeth. “That could change though.” He paused, “If so many are… interested… be particular? Survival could become Desire or Rage fairly easy, I think, given enough opportunity. If you‘re going to do this - make sure you get what you need, not what you want.” He faced the spirit, “No offense meant.”

“None taken. She should be careful,” the spirit agreed. “Many are not and do not survive.” Cullen bit back his protest and worry, his body starting to twitch in unconscious spasms as he fought against the sleep.

Pippa’s face lit up, coming into better focus momentarily. “All right. I’ll be picky. Wake up, Da. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And the dream faded away into pre-dawn light. Instead of getting up, Cullen rolled over and spooned a still sleeping Asta, thinking, shivering slightly, and his head aching as his body yearned for lyrium, to block the dreams again.

He would have to ask her not to do that again, under any circumstances.

His dreams were bad enough already, without making them real. 


	56. To Keep Our Way of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from the Dragon Age Bard Song "Once We Were"
> 
> "We held the Fade  
> And the demon's flight  
> So far from our children  
> And from our lives.
> 
> We held together  
> The fragile sky  
> To keep our way of life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't have written the ritual in this chapter without Iduna. She all but wrote it the ritual itself, after reading the few words that I had scribbled down. She thoroughly checked my magical theory, as well as listened to my ranting about spirits as I agonized over this and the repercussions of Pippa's choice. So, so grateful.

In the morning, Pippa rose, cheerfully, and stared at Cullen expectantly through his first hard-won cup of coffee, and wriggled through his second, waiting for him to be conscious enough to talk.

He started on his third before she blurted, “Well?!”

Asta frowned in confusion from the bed, where she was feeding Ian. Cullen blushed. “Your daughter pulled me into a dream last night. With her… friends.”

“Pippa,” Asta scolded, “you know Rhys says that is…”

“I asked permission from my friends first, and it was my dream, and my choice,” Pippa rolled her eyes. “And Da needed to see. When he asked to wake up I let him. I didn‘t keep him there or anything.”

“I did, love,” Cullen admitted. “See, anyway. They hardly looked… dangerous. Though demons - spirits - are clever, and you shouldn’t trust them. Except perhaps for Mercy. She…” he shuddered in memory, “…reminded me of someone I used to know. Someone that used to scold the new Templars for being slobs, and then darn our socks behind our backs.”

Asta raised a single eyebrow, amused. “And you dreamed about her?”

“Not like that!” Cullen laughed despite himself. “She was like… everyone’s surrogate mother. Really. And she is… was… Rhys’ mother! Though we didn‘t know she was a mother at all…” he finished weakly.

“Ah,” Asta sighed, “Well, I know just how weird the Fade can be, Cullen, so I won’t be a bother.” She smiled, “I like to think of you having someone at Kinloch that cared, even if it was only enough to darn your socks on the sly.”

Cullen breathed out hard, “It… wasn’t so bad. Before Uldred. I told you… a little.” He stared into his earthen mug, not seeing the remaining coffee. “But that’s besides the point. I met them. The spirits. Sort of.”

“And…” Pippa prompted.

“And the most I can say is that I didn’t feel the urge to kill them?” Cullen huffed. “I’m not sure this is the best course of action. Too much that could go wrong, too many variables… but…”

“But?” Asta asked softly.

“But I feel a little better about this than about Solas, or even Vivienne,” Cullen looked up again. “It’s Pippa’s choice. They can‘t come without permission.” He looked back down, thoughtful. “I think I want to talk to Evangeline again, though,” he admitted. “How soon will they do this… ritual? Can I be there?” He looked at Pippa, lines etched in his forehead. “I would like to be present.”

“We’ll find out,” Asta smiled. “I hope so. I want to watch, and maybe take notes. Pippa, would you mind?”

“I wouldn’t, but the Augur might,” Pippa grinned and shrugged. “I’ll ask him. I need to ask him about a few things anyway.”

***

The day of the ritual dawned clear and cold, and their breath froze in the air as sparkling little crystals as Asta and Cullen stood far back behind the stone altar, and the Augur approached, grunting at nothing. “The gods welcome your return, First Thaw.” The sun rose, orange and without warmth over the water behind them, tinting the snow and ice with its light.

“It’s… good to be back?” Asta offered feebly, more than slightly uncomfortable with admitting how friendly she had gotten with the local spirits on her last visit, at least in front of Cullen. He had missed most of those interactions.

The Augur laughed, deep and rumbly, but didn’t respond.

“So… what does this involve?” Cullen asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “And what happens if something… goes wrong?”

The Augur turned to him, and eyed him critically. “You worry too much, mate of First Thaw.”

“I do have a name, you know,” Cullen muttered.

“No, you don’t,” the Augur sniffed disdainfully. “Your wife does. You are only her mate. Cullen, mate of First-Thaw. We have no knowledge of your father. Your daughter has more status than you. At least we know who her mother is.”

“Be nice,” hissed Asta to her husband. “You’re insulting him.”

“I’m insulting him?” Cullen choked, but ceased to comment. If he couldn’t say anything nice…

Pippa came around the hill, dressed in a white robe of Avvar Cotton. Her hands were full of an awkward, lumpy sack. She took a deep breath, and looked up at the sky. “I come to the stone by the sea, where the air meets earth and water, to ask the gods for their instruction,” she stated clearly. “Will they accept my offering?”

The Augur closed his eyes and hummed. “The gods are willing, Pippa Astadotten. Will you accept their advice?”

“I will,” the child answered, not without a quaver in her voice. “If they offer it.”

“Then approach,” the Augur answered.

Pippa came to the altar and slowly laid the sack before her on the ground. She turned to Cullen. “Da, I would like to borrow your sword.”

Cullen frowned, “What? Why?”

“I need to cast a circle of protection, with either salt or sword,” she smiled slightly. “I have the salt with my stuff, but I’d rather use your sword, with your permission. You protect me better than anyone.”

Cullen unsheathed his sword and handed it to her silently. Pippa took hold of it by the hilt, and immediately the heavy weapon fell into the dirt. “Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s going to get… a little dull? And a lot dirty.”

“Then I’ll show you how to sharpen it later,” Cullen replied softly.

Pippa nodded in response, and took another deep breath, holding the hilt in two hands. “Once I put the circle in place, you guys can’t cross it,” she met their eyes. “For any reason. It‘s there for your safety and mine.”

Asta and Cullen nodded, Cullen a step behind.

“Good, then,” she breathed out in relief, and dug the blade into the earth, and started to walk.

Asta could barely hear her words, “Only what is called can come, nothing harmful can leave.” Pippa completed a first loop around the stone altar, moving to the right, and a thin glow raised from the earth to dome over her head, shimmering white. She started around the second time, repeating the words slowly, so that she completed them at the same time as the circle. It flashed, and looked vaguely… thicker, somehow. Asta found herself squinting, trying to measure how deep it went. Pippa started around a third time, but as she finished the final circle and warding, she sunk the sword into the snowy ground with all her strength, the sword tilting at an awkward angle, but just staying upright. The entire barrier flashed bright enough for Asta to have to blink away the afterglow.

The Augur nodded in approval, just inside the circle. “Now, start the fire, Pippa Astadotten.“

Pippa smiled gently, held out her hand, and a single fireball leapt out and ignited the small bundle of wood shavings and twigs that had been prepared. It crackled gently, smokeless.

She bent down and unpacked a small sheaf of herbs and kindling, tied up with a green string, and laid it on the altar gently. “I offer gifts from the earth,” she took a deep breath, and precisely, placed the bundle into the flames, which licked at her without any damage. She watched the Augur, who nodded gently.

The fire flickered green. The air filled with the smell of elfroot and Prophet’s Laurel, fresh as if just picked, not frozen and withered with frost at the beginning of winter. Asta took a deep breath, enjoying the scent, so foreign for the season. Cullen breathed it as well, and relaxed, ever so slightly, as if comforted by the aroma.

Pippa was retrieving the next bundle from her bag, and moved to the next side of the altar stone, facing east. “I offer a gift of the skies, dried in the winter wind,” she stated hopefully, and retrieved the next bundle, filled with simple firewood and bright red feathers, and wrapped around with Felandaris leaves.

Asta creased her mouth. She knew the only place Felandaris grew near Stone Bear Hold’s lands. Pippa had ranged far for her offerings, and had never been alone, but that swamp wasn’t a happy - or safe - place. Half of the plants were halfway up gnarled trees or deep into the shadows so recently haunted by blood magic traps.

The child placed the bundle, and the fire leapt, making her stumble backwards in reflex. The Augur laughed. “The gods approve,” he chuckled, “though perhaps you shouldn’t have gone quite so far or to such a dangerous place looking for your offering?”

Pippa grinned, her teeth nearly completely in now, and then, with a single look, the ashes swirled upwards, drifting into the breeze heading inland. “Da says nothing right is easy. No birds should die for this,” she stated simply, and then concentrated again. “I think the Lady would approve?”

“Probably,” the Augur agreed. “I will ask Sky-Watcher, next I see him.”

Pippa tensed and blew out a short breath, before bending down to retrieve a odd box from her bag, and moved to the next side of the altar, now facing south. “I offer a gift of fire,” she whispered nervously, “the ashes of my home and my friends, sacrificed for my life.” The birchbark container she set down was filled with white-grey ashes and the red flowers of Embrium, and it took a minute for Asta to realize, and cover her mouth before she could disrupt the ritual. Next to her, Cullen choked.

They were Skyhold’s ashes. When had Pippa… but she must have, even before they left… Asta turned her face to Cullen’s shoulder. They hadn’t told her. But she must have realized, all the same, that the fires were meant for her.

The Augur frowned, “An unusual offering.” Pippa said nothing, merely raised her hand and struck it with a short jolt of lightening.

The container broke, the ashes scattered across the altar, and Asta realized that Pippa had mixed dawnstone arrowheads in it - the sort that Sera favored, because they shattered so readily. Had she retrieved the ashes from the forge? Either way, the container lit, burning the bark around the edges gently, licking it away like a gentle tongue, before the smell of burning Embrium - so familiar from the smell of the burning of the Exalted Plains - filled Asta’s nostrils. The fire was far too yellow to be natural. Nearly golden.

But Pippa had already lifted the last bundle, and was moving to the last side of the altar. West, as if she was hurried.

“I offer gifts from the sea, bathed in salt water,” her voice shook, and her eyes were unfocused and blurry. She laid another twist of kindling down, made of spindleweed and driftwood this time, and bound by blue string.

The Augur frowned. “No fish?”

“I would not take lives for this, even those of fish,” Pippa whispered. His face cleared, and he nodded, thoughtfully. “You said it was my choice, and up to the gods if they would accept…” she wiped her eyes and some of the tears fell on the flames as she dashed them away.

A puff of blue flame consumed the offerings eagerly, and Pippa doused it in a small drifting of snow, letting it smother in a quiet hiss before the fire leaped back up, stubbornly persistent.

“They have accepted,” the Augur was quiet. Pippa breathed a little easier, and moved back to her starting place, facing north. “Be anointed, Pippa Astadotten.” He drew out a small blue vial from under his cloak, and Cullen gagged slightly as he opened it, tense under Asta‘s hand. The Augur dipped his fingers and touched the top of her head. “The crown for wisdom,” he intoned, and dipped his fingers again. “The eye for vision,” he continued touching her forehead, leaving a small smudge of lyrium behind in the center.

The smell of lyrium increased, and Asta took Cullen’s arm and stepped back, twice, into the breeze coming off the sea, hoping it would clear his head of the metallic odor. He trembled under her hands, beads of sweat on his nose and forehead, nostrils pinched and the lines of his face green.

The Augur pressed on, as if no one was watching. “The lips to taste the bitter and the sweet,” he smiled then, as he pressed the lyrium to her mouth. Pippa did not lick her lips, and the Augur nodded in approval. “The throat to speak the truth,” he touched her throat gently, and dipped his fingers again. He reached out and touched his fingers to her clothes over her heart, and left a visible smudge. “The heart to love.” He dipped again. “The stomach for courage.” He dipped down and touched her abdomen, “And the womb to give birth to faith,” he finished. Pippa reached out and he handed her the vial. “Ask, Pippa Astadotten.”

Pippa stared into the flames, now flickering golden, blue, red and green in an improbable mix, “I ask only for a teacher, one of kindness and strength. One to teach me the ways of the Fade and of Life. I ask for a spirit that will show me the path of courage, the power of love over hate, the strength of healing over hurting, and how to make the world a better place than the one I was born into. I ask for a spirit that will teach me Hope, Faith, Generosity and Wisdom. If such a teacher is to be found, I ask, humbly, that you come to my side.”

She reached out in a moment and poured the lyrium over the flames. It ignited, and Asta smothered a gasp as it burned, silver now, the same color as the ashes beneath it. Lyrium was used as an explosive, but she hadn’t realized…

Her thoughts on the nature of lyrium were cut off by a single light growing bright from nowhere, off to the right of the Augur, and as Asta’s eyes grew wider, it grew more corporeal, and then less, and then shot into her daughter - directly over her navel.

The smears of lyrium disappeared, as if they had never happened at all, in a single brief flash of blue light.

The fires died down immediately, as if they had been drenched with water from a bucket, and all was silent.

And Pippa opened her eyes. “Did it work?” she asked, confused.

And the Augur laughed. Behind them, deep in the woods, wolves began to howl. Asta tightened her fingers on Cullen’s arm at the sound. “Aye, it worked, Pippa Astadotten. Can you not tell?”

Pippa frowned and concentrated. “I thought…” she smiled. “I guess it did. But Evangeline doesn’t feel any different, and now I…”

Cullen choked again, “Do you… feel different?”

The Augur sighed, resigned, “Finish the ritual, Pippa Astadotten, and then we will go eat and drink and explain ourselves. We need to ground ourselves in this world, remind our bodies they are not creatures of the Fade.”

Pippa looked confused, and then brightened, “Oh!” She grasped the sword and drug it back in the opposite direction, widdershins, reciting impatiently, “The rite is ended, the circle is broken.” Her movements were slightly less precise, and the Augur folded his arms in silent remonstrance. Pippa slowed slightly and repeated again, as the barrier dimmed around them, “The rite is ended, the circle is broken.” Once more, and the barrier flashed once, and then disintegrated into small shining bits, fading away entirely. She lifted the sword and handed it back to Cullen, sheepishly. “I think I know where you put your whetstone, but it might be better to take it to Stone Bear‘s blacksmith.”

Cullen cupped her face, searching it avidly, and then hugged her, tight to his chest. “You’re all right. Are you all right?” His eyes met the Avvar’s begging silently for reassurance.

The Augur smiled, “She is fine. The lyrium creates a barrier, between the god and the student. You might call it possession, lowlander, but this is less than that… a friendship, a partnership. She is not subsumed. The god will do a good job. She chose well.”

“But what aspect?” Asta asked slowly, looking between the Augur and her daughter.

“Da told me to be picky,” Pippa shrugged, grinning up at him. “But I… asked for Hope, in the end. My friends said she suited me.” She frowned, “I hope that doesn’t mean I’m gonna have to sing everything, like Andraste.”

Asta flinched. “Are you sure that‘s… Pippa, sweetheart, Fen‘Harel feeds on Hope _._ If Andraste had…” her mind whirred dizzily. “If you‘ve…” for once she couldn’t find her words, tangled up in theories and worry.

“Maybe so,” Pippa grinned even wider. “But he’s not the only one that can feed on Hope. Hope is hard to kill.  You don't want it as an enemy.” Asta glanced at Cullen, who was still pale, but at least breathing more normally. “Can I eat now? I’m starving. All that ritual bathing this morning meant I didn‘t get breakfast.”

Asta followed them back up the hill to the village, looking into the distant forest, where the wolves had howled, hoping, for once, that she was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who is stronger? Hope, or Pride? ;)
> 
> A couple of details I want to point out: I picked dawnstone for the arrowheads, because of the Chargers who died in the tavern, remembering Bull's love of the stone, and because the forge burnt, too, and Pippa had been stealing arrows for Sera, and because they are a metal aligned in the game with fire. I happen to think that's really cool. Thought about Dragonbone, but I think that the gods would have been a little too enthusiastic about that, and it doesn't remember Bull's loss in quite the same way. Also, quite possibly a waste of rare resources. Iduna gave me the idea, and after considerable time doing 'research' in-game, I decided she was right. While none of the inner circle died in the fire, Pippa had been interacting with the blacksmiths in the forge and armory, and hanging out in the tavern with the Chargers.
> 
> She made the birchbark box herself, intending it to be consumed.
> 
> This whole chapter is full of little details like that. I won't spell them all out, because they aren't central to the story. I know that most people don't care.


	57. This Unfamiliar Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Phillip Phillips' 'Home'.
> 
> "Hold on, to me as we go  
> As we roll down this unfamiliar road  
> And although this wave is stringing us along  
> Just know you're not alone  
> 'Cause I'm going to make this place your home."

The ravens were flying back and forth briskly, a good deal of the remaining recruits in charge of hunting fennec to keep them fed, given their large expense of energy. It seemed like a bird arrived nearly daily for her husband, who turned away with every single letter, only to frown, pout or smile. When asked, it was always ‘Branson,” grunted reluctantly, with him turning away to hide the contents, “Don‘t pry.”

“I had no idea he was such a good correspondent,” Asta teased.

“Just a few lines,” her husband had blushed. “It’s nothing important.”

“Nothing important sure requires a lot of letters,” Asta mused, and left him alone.

Cullen had bought them all new boots, Great Bear skins, with fuzzy woolen balls. Even Ian had a pair, and a cozy bundled up snowsuit more sack than anything. His parents propped him up in the snow, hands encased in huge mittens with ties that he couldn’t pull off, and a hood pulled over his still-bald head. He laughed now, a happy chortle, his golden eyes shining, that left Asta’s heart light despite how transient everything was, and how much Pippa‘s decision weighed on her.

Pippa outwardly seemed completely unchanged. She spent just as much time with a far away look on her face, and still found time to hang out with her newfound friends among the younger children that traveled with the mages.

Rhys reported that her magical studies had taken a massive leap forward. And that they had yet to see the spirit overcome her at all. The enchanter went so far as to say he suspected it was more of the sort of link that a spirit healer made, than any other.

That did not relieve Cullen. It had been a spirit healer who had been responsible for the explosion of the Kirkwall Chantry. As far as magic was concerned, spirit healing had gone decidedly out of fashion among mages, largely because of Anders‘ reputation, deserved or not.

The other mages had dispersed among the various camps according to interests. Two or three had brought gifts to the Augur, hoping to study his rituals more thoroughly, and a few were all too happy to assist Kenric in his continued excavation of the ruins in the area. The scouts and soldiers that Rylen had kept on this side of the Waking Sea had been carefully chosen to work well with them until repairs on Skyhold could begin with the spring, as funds allowed.

The letters from Kirkwall and Starkhaven indicated that the mages were mostly settling in overseas, as well, and the Seekers were - slowly - accepting their new partners. The Seekers had elected to send a single representative to Starkhaven, to investigate any, thus far, non-existent complaints.

Everything had come together. There was no reason for them to stay.

“I think that’s it,” Asta sighed with relief and surprise. “Lace, is there anything else?”

The dwarf was looking dreamily out the window in the direction of the researchers camp - her reunion with Kenric having gone quite well. “What? No! That’s all, Inquisitor. We’re all settled in, here. Should be fine until spring. We have scouts helping with hunting, trying to keep our burden on the Hold light, and offering what we can spare for their use. Meat is always welcome, they assure us, and a couple of the mages are working on setting up hothouses insulated from the cold to try to grow stuff we might be able to trade for things we can‘t make or hunt. So far, relations are good. We‘ll tread lightly, never fear.”

Asta squeezed the dwarf’s elbow. “How are your parents in Denerim? Did they take the news about Skyhold well?”

The scout shivered, “I’m just happier than ever I kept them away from Skyhold. Knowing my Da, he would have gone up trying to help Cabot with his distillery.” She went silent, and Asta squeezed her elbow again, and then let it drop, unable to offer other comfort.

“Josie, have you heard from King Alistair?”

“Not as yet,” the Ambassador pursed her lips. “I imagine he’s dealing with a considerable amount of advice from all fronts. I would recommend that we keep up the charade that with Skyhold’s loss, the Inquisition has all but disbanded. The ruse will not last for long, but it will buy us time. The King, unless he formally banishes your entire family, cannot stop you from having guests…” she stopped speaking abruptly. “In any case, I have heard nothing.”

Asta nodded, “Then I think we should make plans to move out and into South Reach. Any objections?”

Josie sighed in relief. “Does this mean we can finally leave this Maker-forgotten icepit?”

“You could have gone ahead with the Chargers, Josie,” Asta attempted sympathetically.

“It’s all set, Josie,” Cullen rocked forward and backward on his heels. “My family has prepared accommodations. I’m assured that they will be adequate.” Asta watched him narrowly, suspicious, and counting in her head the number of people that his family would have to accommodate. Sera and Cole had already left for warmer climates. Bull had traveled ahead to find a campsite for the Chargers, but even so, that left the four of them, and Josie, Rylen, Petri, Rhys, Evangeline… she cursed mentally as the number ticked upwards.

There was no way his family had the room.

“South Reach isn’t Val Royeaux, Josie, but…” Cullen was still speaking, Asta realized.

“I want only to be _warm_ ,” the Ambassador stressed. “I can exist without luxuries as long as your family has a good fireplace… Didn’t I do so in Haven? When can we leave?”

“Tomorrow, if everyone is ready,” Cullen beamed. “Most of the supplies stay here, so it’s just a matter of loading ourselves and our luggage into the wagons and on the packhorses. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours, if the scouts and soldiers help.”

As everyone dispersed to prepare for their travels, Asta eyed her husband narrowly. “Cullen, are you ready to confess the reason for all the letters?”

Cullen smirked. “You’ll see soon enough, Inquisitor. Excuse me! I need to write back to Branson immediately, to let him know to expect us in a week.” He left the building for their own quarters, smiling far too easily and widely.

Asta looked down at her son, kicking in his sling and sighed. “Your Da is terrible at keeping secrets, Pup.” The baby just kicked at her and blew bubbles. “Eww…” she laughed, and dug in her pocket for her handkerchief. “Come on, then. Let’s find your sister, go pack what we have, and see about getting you fed. Again.”

***

As it was it took two days for everyone to finish packing, load the wagons, and Asta to argue with Scout Harding about how many supplies the dwarf insisted on sending with them.

“You’ve never traveled in winter in Ferelden, Inquisitor. You want to be prepared for eventualities! If your wagon’s axle breaks, if one of you gets sick…

“We’ll be fine,” Asta argued. “Redcliffe is two days away. In an emergency, we’ll pitch a camp…”

“And you’ll need extra supplies while someone arranges for a cartwright or a healer,” the practical woman finished up. “I know it’s crowded, but you’ll be glad I insisted if something happens.” She frowned. “And stay away from what remains of Honnleath. The scouts stationed down there have been reporting stray darkspawn. I’ve got a request in to the Wardens to go down and see if they can find the Deep Roads entrance that is causing the trouble, but I won’t have you take any risks, not with Pip and Pup.” She reached up and stole the baby’s nose, making him giggle. “I’ve told Ser Cullen…”

“You do realize that you don’t have to address him by his title now, right?” Asta changed the subject.

The woman shrugged. “Hard habit to break, whether he’s the Commander or not. Besides, Rylen…” she paused, and dropped her voice, “Rylen isn’t wrong, about the lyrium, Inquisitor.”

Asta’s forehead wrinkled. “I know. Cullen tried to convince him… but perhaps Cassandra will have better luck in Kirkwall?”

The scout startled briefly, “Kirkwall? He’s not…” she bit her lip. “Right. He’s in Kirkwall.”

Asta’s eyes narrowed. “Lace… what do you know?”

“Ignore me, Inquisitor,” she bundled up the maps, refusing to meet her eyes. “I just… made a mistake. Or something. Here,” she thrust three rolled up maps, Frostbacks, Western Ferelden, and Interior Ferelden, into her free arm, forcing her to take them. “I’ve got to meet Kenric. The man has been arguing with Colette all morning about Elvhen influences in Imperial architecture. Someone has to break up the fight before someone draws blood. Colette gets mean when she’s losing. I‘ll see you in spring!” And the Scout was gone, leaving Asta to juggle the maps one handed, with Ian supported by the other and his sling.

She dropped them into the back of the final wagon, sighing, and then stepped up to take her place by Cullen, who smiled, looking comfortable in a way he never did while riding in carriage. She slid over and pressed her thigh against his, hoping to get as comfortable as possible, and Josie climbed up next to her.

It was a tight fit, but at least they’d be warm. Asta looked behind her, and Pippa was buried in a book, frowning slightly. Ian wriggled, trying to maneuver himself upright, and Asta shifted her arms until he could see forward.

“Are we ready?” Cullen cleared his throat.

“I think so,” Asta pressed her lips together. “Josie?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” the Ambassador confirmed.

“Then let’s move out,” Asta swallowed, wishing it didn’t feel so… final. As if she was leaving the Frostbacks, north and south, and Skyhold, too, behind forever. It had been easier to pretend that Skyhold hadn‘t burnt, here… but it was silly to deny it. “I’m sure Mia was expecting us yesterday.”

Cullen chuckled, and snapped the reins well over the horses’ backs, the Forders specially reserved from Dennet’s herd, one of the few that were trained for both pulling and riding. The rest of the mounts were wintering in his farm in the Hinterlands, probably far more comfortable than the humans who traveled with them. Dennet had yet to recover from his close call, but Seanna and Elayna had everything under control, and more than enough help.

They would all be fine, Asta told herself one more time. It was only a few months, after all.

Any one could live with inlaws that long, right?

***

A day and a half later, they reached the pond, finding it frozen solid. Cullen explained its significance to Pippa, tactfully editing their last visit to the pond, his ears bright red with the memory, instead of the cold, as the two of them sat on the frozen dock, while the rest of the group built a campfire and prepared a small meal and something hot to drink.

Cullen, laughing so easily today, as if nothing could bother him, taught Pippa how to coast on the ice without falling, and how to detect thin ice around the edges. She slipped and slid her way around giggling gleefully. “I’ll have to find her some ice skates somewhere,” Cullen laughed at Asta, cuddled up with Ian in a blanket, the baby trying to watch his sister over the edge, and fussing slightly until his mother shifted him. He sighed, unwilling to leave. “I suppose we should go. It’s early yet, and we‘ve miles to go. And we‘re a little too close to where those darkspawn were reported for my comfort.”

Asta squeezed his arm, leaning in so that he had to put his arm around her. “Just a little while longer?” She suggested. “It’s so peaceful here. We won’t have any peace, staying with Mia for the winter. You know I‘m right. We‘ll be gnawing on each other by Guardian.”

Cullen snorted, amused, turning it into an unconvincing cough. “Come on,” he stood effortlessly, and offered his hand. “Let’s get moving. We’ll come back again, in warmer weather. With luck, we‘ll reach Redcliffe before we have to stop to camp, and the inn will have room.”

Asta groaned, and watched Josie huddle around the little campfire, buried in three blankets and a huge Fennec coat. “I think Josie would bless you forever. This is hardest on her.”

 


	58. Roses in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So if you didn't listen to my music selections WAY back at the beginning of Andraste's Asta you might end up a little lost here. I've included the words to the key song for this chapter in the notes at the end though.

Before they reached the town of South Reach, Cullen stopped the wagon, only to loosen his scarf, and tie it around Asta’s eyes. “No peeking, love,” he teased. “I want this to be a surprise.”

“Naughty,” Asta laughed. “What have you done? Cullen… this has something to do with all those letters!”

“All those letters,” Cullen’s happiness warmed his voice. “But you’ll see soon enough. Pippa, don’t breathe a word.”  The wagon was bouncing a bit with the girl's excitement.

“I kept the secret this long,” Pippa huffed. “Not gonna give it away now! I’m better at keeping secrets than you, Da.”

“Pippa knows?!” Asta’s surprise made Josie giggle. “Et tu, Josie?”

“Perhaps,” Josie murmured teasingly. “Perhaps we all did… as you say, Cullen is terrible at keeping secrets. And a few other things. Someone had to help.” Asta cursed. “You’ll see in good time, Asta.”

The wagon started back up again with a jerk, and Asta reached out with her good hand to brace herself against the wooden seat. “Cullen, it’s hard to keep my balance,” she criticized. Josie reached out and took Ian out of his sling. “Thank you, Ambassador,” she laughed, “Since my husband is so determined to see this surprise through instead of making sure his son is safe…” She reached down to brace herself better with her hook.

“He’s fine,” Cullen argued, good-naturedly. “It’s only a little further.”

“Right,” Asta sighed, and resigned herself to her current blind fate. “I was so looking forward to seeing everything again… its been so long… South Reach must have changed…”

Cullen choked. “You might say that.”

“Cullen?”

He neglected to reply, long suspicious silences filling the chilly air for several long minutes while Asta stewed in her imposed blindness. “And we’re here!” The wagon rocked while Cullen took the baby from Josie’s arms, and handed him to Mia while he helped the Ambassador down. Ian squealed, and kicked his aunt, reaching back for his Da. “Nothing like your father, then,” the woman muttered. “You’re a completely different kind of trouble, aren’t you?”

“Is that Mia?!” Asta asked, delighted, her hand rising to the scarf. “Cullen… let me take this off and say hello!”

“It’s me, but never you mind, Asta,” Mia laughed lightly. “I’ll greet you properly in the next few minutes. Let your husband have his fun. He so rarely lets himself enjoy anything.” Her dry humor came through loud and clear. “I’ll just make myself scarce. Coming, Ambassador?”

“Of course!” The wagon creaked as Pippa climbed down as well, without a word.

She could hear Cullen’s excited breathing, his breath warm against her ear as he stood behind her. So many months of secrets… Asta fidgeted. “Close your eyes,” her husband instructed, and removed the scarf, the cold air colder where it had insulated against the air. “All right,” he took a deep breath, “Open.” and Asta opened them to find a large house, with a stone foundation and a wooden second floor, still smelling of sawdust and wood stain.

There was an open crate of shingles sitting outside the front door, and the open front door showed that the flagstones in the entry had not been laid yet.

“Cullen…” Asta’s eyes were wider than he had seen them. “What… where are we?”

He beamed, his surprise a success. “Welcome to Argyll, Asta. Our house.”

Asta’s eyes swept over the big picture, pausing on little details. There were trellises - bare now, but the scraggly sticks that would become rosebushes had been planted to grow over an arching garden gate, with rosemary bushes half buried by drifting snow and wrapped in burlap sacks against the winter, and a kennel around the other side of the house, already occupied, if the loud barking was any indication. Asta’s head tilted up, taking in the second floor with wide eyes, the wider windows - all with iron bars to prevent incursions, naturally. She raised her shaking hand to her mouth.

Cullen misunderstood her , “I’m sorry, I couldn’t figure out how to make the second story without stairs or building on a slope, and we needed the room, in the end… The original plan was to have one level, remember?” Cullen apologized, looking worried, but expectant, with his hand on the back of his neck. “I know it’s probably nothing like your parents’ home… Max said it was huge, when I asked for details, but short of building an entire Keep... and that would take years.  We didn't have that kind of time.  Do you… is it…”

“You planted roses?” Asta whispered, turning towards him, glowing, unable to express every detail at once.

“And you’ll be here, Maker willing, to see them bloom,” Cullen whispered back. “I know it’s not the same as planting them yourself, but Grace insisted they had to be put in soon enough to take root… If they don‘t make it through the cold season we‘ll have to plant again come warmer weather. Grace was worried you wouldn‘t approve her color choice anyway…”

“Cullen, it’s perfect,” Asta choked. “However did you…” her eyebrows tilted in. “Cullen, the expense… this all must have cost…”

“The answer to that is in the garden,” Cullen smirked hopefully at her positive comment, and he led her eagerly towards the house. “Should I carry you across the threshold?” He laughed, pausing at the front door.

“Haven‘t you had enough Avvar rituals to satisfy…” Cullen swept her up anyway, to her startled laugh of glee. She barely had a chance to register all her personal things and knickknacks that had been saved from Skyhold‘s fire in crates in the entry, waiting to be fully unpacked before she was through the main hall and into a side corridor.

“The library is through there,” Cullen indicated with a nod of his head through a pair of double doors at the end of a short hallway. “And our bedroom is upstairs, and on the other side of the entry, along with Pippa’s and Pup’s. Most of our guests are in the hall opposite.”

“I lost that bet,” Asta smiled, blinking away tears as she looked up at him. “I wasn’t supposed to get a library.”

“You don’t think I would design a house for you without a place for your books, do you?” Cullen shone even brighter. “You must not know me at all. I know you though,” he gloated. “You’d have our room buried in paper, given a lack of study space.”

“Then set me down, and let me see…” Asta wriggled in his arms, and he tightened them in response.

“Oh, no, love. You don’t get to go in there now. Later. Or I’ll never get you out.” Cullen bent to her ear, whispering. “The door is locked and warded by Petri. You and he will hold the only keys - the wards will fall and rise with the tumblers‘ movement, specially enchanted by Dagna. The Evanuris collection is in there.” Asta went stiff in the cradle of his arms.

“He didn’t…”

“He did,” Cullen kicked open a swinging door that led to a modest kitchen, with a woman working diligently on an elaborate cake. “He and his mother packed them up for weeks after the fire, while we struggled to get everything arranged. Why do you think he stayed behind, instead of traveling with us to Stone Bear?”

“But Cullen…” Asta hissed, bending back, to watch the cook, alarmed at the woman‘s presence, “We… we can’t afford kitchen help! We talked about this!”

“Taken care of, love,” Cullen’s face was shining brighter than a star now with pride in his victory. “You’ll understand in a moment.”

He set her down by another door, opened it wide, and announced her presence, “Ladies, gentlemen, may I present Asta Rutherford, the Inquisitor.” Asta’s face fell, and she nearly turned aside. It felt deceptive to claim the title, with most of the Inquisition so far away.

But there was Josephine, curtseying politely, and Petri rocking on his heels, and Rylen, and… so many people - even the Chargers, Bull cradling a giggling Ian on his shoulder, Emily next to him with crossed, sullen arms, obviously trying to look like she was above excitement or a surprise party.

“Inquisitor,” Josie began her obviously prepared speech, “The Inquisition is yours to command. We may have lost Skyhold, but despite our divided nature, we are in unanimous agreement that the Inquisition remains, under whatever name you choose to call it. We await your direction.”

Asta swept her eyes through the group. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Skinner and Rocky grunted, and handed Grim a sovereign each. She smiled, eyes stinging with tears.

“On the contrary,” Rylen supplied. “I have a letter here from Seeker Pentaghast expressing her extreme displeasure at the behavior of certain people, and the Viscount‘s full support in whatever form you need. I will spare you the Seeker’s invectives, but she’s threatening to descend upon us personally, to help us reestablish.” He shifted his feet a little awkwardly. “Please write to her as soon as possible and tell her that her presence is not necessary. I don’t think she approves of the way I’ve been running things.” Cullen chuckled at his admission.

“It’s bullshite!” A piping Denerim gutter accent perked up from the back.

“Sera!” Asta’s face grew all too excited, watching the elf swing herself down from the top of a trestle table. “What are you… you went back to Val Royeaux! What are you doing in this country, much less in my…” she flushed and beamed, “my house?!” Cullen squeezed her shoulder.

“Her Divine Shiv in the Dark is gonna have to find a new lefty, is all,” Sera crinkled her nose. “Gone and left my notice, I have. Some things‘re more important. Like Friends, and making sure fire starters get what‘s coming to ‘em. Blah, blah, wanna be Bann. Blah, blah, arrow in my face!”

“You mean you…” Asta could only guess at what horrors ‘giving her notice’ would constitute for the Red Jenny, and she didn‘t even want to think about what chaos she had left at the Grand Cathedral… “Sera, tell me you didn’t put an arrow in…”

Sera smirked. “Hated that job anyway. Too many nobs getting away with shite because coins crossed palms, right? Buy a statue, paint a picture, get off treating people like scum. But you… I’m ready to go where you point me, Lady Titsandbits.” The elf girl saluted. “Within reason, aye? Tired of leaving my Widdle.” She sighed loudly, as Asta tapped her foot nervously. “And no, I haven’t put an arrow in any Trevies. Yet. They’re askin’ for it, though. Step lightly, if they’re smart. They’re related to you, they should be sharper. Ya don‘t try to kill kids. Cabot was a tosspot, but he was my friend!”

“Sera,” Asta pulled her in for a hug, laughing through her tears. “Maker, I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t do that, Cullen’ll get jealous,” Sera winked, pulling back. “And Widdle’s right there. But I got to say, Quizzy,” she leaned in close, talking fast under her breath, “feeding the porky one has filled you out even more. Phroar. Nice rack.”

Asta found herself blushing, as she hugged her again. “Are all of you…”

“Not all,” Josie hesitated, but persevered through the bad news, as always. “Vivienne has sent her regards and a polite refusal, stating that the Inquisition‘s goals no longer match her own,” Asta nodded stone-faced, not surprised, just marveling that the Ambassador had even bothered to ask. “Thom is apparently in the Anderfels, dealing with issues arising from Weisshaupt, we will need to brief you on those, Inquisitor… and I would suggest writing to Hawke, to get her version of the events leading…”

“And you know what Dorian’s up to,” Bull cut in, “And you need to eat!” He bounced Ian on his shoulder, making the baby laugh loudly and reach up for his horns, falling far short of his goal and slumping backwards trying to reach them, catching him just in time before he could fall, to the baby‘s shrieks of laughter. “So save the work until after the party,” he suggested eagerly. “Just this once, Josie?”

Josie frowned, and then gave in. “Very well, just the once.” She smiled all around. “It’s so nice to plan a party again.”

The entire garden - still under construction, but stopped for the Winter season - was decorated and lit with paper lanterns and torches, with a massive bonfire in the middle for people to huddle around. Branson and Grace, with her newest baby in her arms, stood barricaded behind the trestle tables, sheepish looks on their faces. Asta made her way over, with difficulty, tripping over other people’s feet in her excitement to reach them, and embraced them both. “This has you two written all over it,” her eyes glistened. “I know it. Branson - all this work!” She laughed. “All those letters! Cullen must have been driving you mad! I‘m so sorry!”

“I should never have encouraged him to write,” Mia muttered at Asta in passing, as she deposited a few more plates on the tables, barely finding enough room. “Such a waste of parchment.  As if we couldn't handle any little decision.”

“He’s paying me well,” Branson protested with a chuckle. “Can’t deny my only brother, can I? Even if the cost is my sanity?”

“How?!” Asta spun back to her husband, just behind her. “Cullen…” he handed her Ian, collected from Bull, who was already digging into the food with happy muttered expletives, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Things don’t cost as much here, for one,” he admitted. “Our money went further than we realized it would. Mia negotiated nearly everything, and Josie the rest… the Arl ended up cutting the price of the land even further after Josie got involved. He may not be happy with us, quite honestly… because we purchased the land outright we don‘t have to pay taxes to him, just to the Crown… we're freeholders, not tenants.”

The Ambassador interrupted, “And I would argue that we could easily afford to provide you with a small stipend… your family is growing and a raise would not be amiss.”

“With what money?! As far as Thedas is concerned we no longer exist!” Asta argued. “We can’t expect people to continue to funnel us money, not when the Chantry…”

“Nonsense, all we lost was a great deal of infrastructure, and a few major donors,” Josie assured her dismissively. “The vault was airtight, and the funds and treasures survived with little damage. Those funds have been safely transferred to a secure location. I will brief you on that tomorrow. So now, we make do, as we did in Haven, only… better.” She scribbled madly, her pen scratching nearly as fast than her thoughts. “We yet have benefactors, and with our remaining funds, we easily have enough to continue our work, albeit on a smaller scale. We are not fighting an open war, after all. Our needs are fewer, and we are completely able to choose where we direct our efforts, both for paying donors and on a pro bono basis, if we are careful to screen applicants requesting our assistance. We can start modest repairs on Skyhold, in order to house the mages left homeless in spring, as we do not want to overstay our welcome at Stone Bear Hold. I would suggest…” she started to hand the Inquisitor a sheet of parchment, underneath the one she had been working on.

“Not now, Josie,” Bull interrupted. “Drinks!”

“Food!” Sera chirped, and swung her legs off the table she had perched herself back on two minutes ago. “I’m starvin‘.”

Asta, clutching her son a little too tightly, let Cullen direct her past the tables, leading her to a wide wicker chair that was slightly larger than the rest. “A new throne?” Asta giggled, head spinning as if she had already drank too much of the strawberry wine gracing the tables next to the punch. “I can’t believe this,” Asta murmured at him, reaching up to steal a kiss. “How did you manage to keep this all a secret?”

“With a great deal of difficulty,” Cullen admitted. “Everyone was in on it. Even the runners in Skyhold knew to direct correspondence from South Reach to me or Josie, rather than you. And directing something like this first from Starkhaven, and then Stone Bear Hold…” he chuckled, “Well, I’m glad it’s over. There’s a lot of work still to do…” his words trailed off in favor of grinning a half smile at his wife. “I’d honestly rather lay siege to another Warden fortress than keep any more secrets from you! Trying to keep Pippa quiet was killing me. And in the meantime, we have a roof over our heads.” He swallowed, and smiled, that wide, easy smile without any tension. “Our roof.”

Pippa came running through the gate, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Mum! The boys won’t leave me alone! They keep copying me!” She hid behind the chair, face glowing, as Peter and Loren ran after her, brandishing sticks.

“Welcome to your family,” Cullen told her dryly. “Get used to it.” Pippa panted, obviously having the time of her life. “They’ll plague your waking hours, Pip.”

“Where is she?” A familiar voice demanded, “Where’s my girl?!” and Asta’s face went white, and she rose.

“Sister Dorcas?”

“Asta!” The older woman swept in and embraced her. “Sorry I’m fashionably late, dear heart, the local Revered Mother would keep trying to pump me for information about you… the locals are a bit ruffled up with the influx of people and all the construction… but I‘ll brief whoever you like on the situation tomorrow.” She drew back and cupped Asta’s face in her hands, searching her eyes and then nodding in satisfaction at what she found. “You look well.”

“I can’t believe you‘re here,” Asta clutched at her mentor. “How… why?”

“I wanted to meet your children, of course,” Sister Dorcas wiped her own eyes. “You don’t write enough, my dear. It’s not that far to Denerim. I can come as often as you like, or you to me.” Asta handed her Ian, who smiled wide. “Oh…” she looked awestruck, but tucked the baby into her arms, blinking rapidly. “He’s lovely. Besides, I understand you have quite the collection of texts - possibly the largest outside of the Chantry! I thought I’d make an extended visit, help you get set up and organized.” She placed her hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay at the Chantry. My last name should open that door, if my published works don‘t.”

“Nonsense,” Cullen interrupted. “We‘ll always have room for you, Sister Dorcas. You‘re family.”

“We will?” Asta looked at him, surprised. “With all these people?” He never got a chance to answer.

“Ser Rutherford!” A man barreled around the corner, from the direction of the ever more frenzied barking. And Asta’s smile grew even larger, as she recognized Kennelmaster Hermes. “Sorry, Ser, but Dane insisted on fetching you… it’s…”  
  
“Damn, the puppies…” Cullen handed a plate to his wife. “Of all the times… Is Dane…”

“Ma’am’s having her puppies?!” Bull panicked. “Shit, Emily, I got to go.” His daughter rolled her eyes and turned away, completely uninterested, at least on the outside.

“Puppies?!” Asta squealed. “Cullen, you didn’t say…”

“It wasn’t anyone’s business,” Cullen crossed his arms defensively. “And Dane swore me and Bull to secrecy. Ma’am didn’t want the attention…”

“She’s fine,” scoffed Hermes. “Dane needs a distraction, is all. Ma’am is going to bite him if he doesn’t calm down. She‘s already on edge, with so many people hanging about… but she‘ll be fine. No worries…”

“Puppies!” Sera crowed. “I am so there…”

Cullen relaxed, “Could you, Sera? I can only go for a moment…”

“An extra pair of hands would be helpful,” Hermes agreed, before eyeballing Bull. “Not yours, Bull. You’ll just make things worse. I hated to interrupt, Ser… but Dane is a mess…” even louder frenzied barking came from around the house and Cullen chuckled.

“So I hear. I‘ll come, just give me a moment.”

“Where are we putting all these people?!” Asta stressed, grabbing Cullen‘s arm and tugging impatiently.

“Already taken care of, Inquisitor,” Josie assured her. “Just enjoy yourself? We will have a full briefing tomorrow.”

Cullen kissed her. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Asta nodded helplessly, nearly overwhelmed with the amount of people in a not so large garden. Mia sidled up to stand by her. “Bull and Emily are with me, and Dorian, too, if he makes it back,” she admitted quietly. “As well as Ros and Krem, in Ros‘ old room.” She paused, almost shy. “Krem is a nice one, after all. So polite. Never seen Ros so smitten.”

“I knew you’d like him,” Asta bit her lip. “I hate to thrust people on you… did Grace have to… with the new baby I hate to think…”

“Nonsense, we volunteered immediately when we heard about the fire. Cullen had to move his plans up a bit - he was intending not to bring you until Bloomingtide,” Mia contradicted. “We’re packed a little tighter than we might have been otherwise, but we’re coping. The Chargers are camping outside of town, and Josie, Petri, and Rylen are all with you… the inn has a few guests as well, but mostly mages, keeping a low profile.” She bit her lip. “Their staves are here, naturally. They assured me that they didn’t need them to defend themselves, and we thought it best… at least until your Ambassador has made a formal arrangement with the King.”

Asta relaxed. “Truly, everyone has taken care of everything.” Grace approached her sideways.

“I thought you might want to meet your new niece,” Grace said, unusually shy as well. The woman handed off her baby, the little girl looking up at her aunt solemnly. “She’s a completely different breed from the boys,” Grace laughed, as Ian bounced in Sister Dorcas‘ arms. “Branson says she acts like Cullen. I say its too soon to tell. But this one,” Grace smiled at Ian. “I know him. Hello, trouble,” she giggled.

The girl sucked on her thumb, weighing Asta carefully, before smiling slightly, showing two small slivers of teeth. “And what’s your name, then?” Asta laughed, “Your uncle wouldn’t tell me anything that was in those letters! I barely knew you’d been born!”

“He was so scared if he said anything, he would give away everything,” Sister Dorcas confessed. “I had letter after letter consulting me about your personal preferences. I had no idea what to say to him, most of the time. How would I know if you‘d prefer slate over wooden shingles?”  The older woman rolled her eyes and strolled away, still holding Ian, and chattering at him happily.

Grace hesitated before answering the prior question, and then whispered, “We named her Laurel.” Asta’s eyes snapped back up to her sister in law’s. “When Cullen told us what happened… we knew we had to. She‘s Laurel Maeve, after your sister and my Mum.”

Asta flung an arm around her shoulders, the baby protesting their enthusiasm. “Grace, you didn’t…”

Grace choked down a sob. “Of course we did. We love you, you utter fool. Even if you do have a mage sister and daughter, and are descending upon our quiet township in droves, driving our Arl to distraction, ruining our peace and quiet, stirring up trouble…” they both dissolved into laughter.

“Oh, no,” Asta pulled back. “Not the Arl?!  Anything but that!”

“We’ll discuss it later, the situation is well in hand,” Josie had made her way over, and held out her hands for one of the infants. “Allow me, please? Surely both of you have had enough of carrying children? There will be dancing, in a little while - just some basic circles, but Maryden insisted she‘d rather perform than be just another guest…”

“Josie, it‘s lovely!” Asta handed off her niece. “Maryden is here? Where‘s Cole then?!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Josie sighed in satisfaction. “Difficult, given the restrictions, but more than adequate. Now, go, enjoy the evening, Inquisitor, Lady Grace. Cole is off… somewhere. I know I saw him…” the Ambassador frowned. “That’s odd. I know I saw him…”

Grace snorted, “I’m not the lady of anything or anywhere, Lady Montilyet.”

“Hmm, we’ll have to see about that,” Josie narrowed her eyes in calculation. “Might help the Arl situation, having the whole family elevated. I know people in Denerim… even if we don‘t ask the King for another favor… such things are easier here than in Orlais, it would probably only take…”

“Don’t you dare,” Grace threatened, paling slightly. “Branson would kill you. Mia would rather _die_.”

Josie waved her away. “None of that, now. We’ll debate it later. Go! Enjoy the party!”

***

Much later that night, Cullen found Asta staring up at the stars in the garden, the children long since asleep, Pippa worn out with the company and Ian with the constant attention.

“Argyll, hmm?” Asta didn’t look in his direction.

He chuckled, giving up. “I should have known better than to try to sneak up on a rogue.” He blushed, “Do you mind the name? I know it‘s foolish, but I remembered that scout after the Singquisition, and I figured… Josie thought it charming.”

“Am I a queen now, after all?” She raised a single eyebrow at him, hand clasped behind her back, around her hook.

“I thought perhaps you’d had enough of being a pawn. You lost one throne,” Cullen cleared his throat, “I’m merely offering you another.” He paused briefly, “Is it enough?” His voice was tight, truly worried that she was disappointed. “It’s not anything like some of those manors in the Free Marches… or like Dorian‘s townhouse in Minrathous…”

“I never wanted a throne,” Asta managed, and turned. Cullen realized she was weeping silent tears, and not bothering to wipe them away. Tears of joy, he hoped, and not grief. “You’ve given me what I wanted all along, instead. Freedom. Roots,” she hesitated, and then pressed on, “Family. I would gladly be queen of all of this.” Her voice was steady, if brushed with wonder.

“As long as you can leave it all behind occasionally,” Cullen laughed. “I know better than to try to keep you at home, love. There will always be someone here to take care of things, this way.” Asta nodded, and reached out her hand for his. A few moments of silence passed, and a falling star gleamed and disappeared. “Welcome home, Asta.”

“Home,” Asta turned and let him pull her close. “Of all the impossible things... I never thought we'd be here.”

“Me either.” He kissed her gently, and wrapped his coat around her to keep her warm, as the fire collapsed slowly behind them into its shallow pit. Pulling away, he smirked, and whispered, “I don’t suppose you’d like to see our room?”

“A varghest couldn’t keep me away,” Asta giggled. “But those aren’t native to Ferelden, are they?”

“The largest predators in these parts are bears, unless you count Sylvans,” Cullen confirmed. “And none of those are closer than the Forest.” He paused, “There are wolves, though.” That admission made them both nervous.

Asta frowned. “We keep Pippa away from the Forest, then. Remind me to ask Josie about that amulet - the Token of the Packmaster.  It was in the treasury, I believe. Maybe she should wear it?” The connection wasn’t sure, but the howling after the ritual… perhaps there was something…

“Agreed,” Cullen whispered, and then drew her back inside. “Come on. Our things aren’t unpacked, but… there’s a bed.” He smirked.

“An embarrassment of riches,” Asta assured him, laughing. “Cullen… thank you.” She leaned her head on his upper arm.

“Purely self-serving, Inquisitor,” he blushed. “I want you to be happy here. You‘re used to having… more.”

“I was happy with you in a hut in the Frostbacks,” Asta contradicted. “But I’ve never received a nicer surprise.” She pulled her hand free to wipe her eyes again. “I can’t stop crying,” she laughed, unable to explain.

“I’ll have to fix that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way back in Andraste's Asta I had a nameless scout wonder exactly where Argyll was, and a female scout call him an idjit for not getting it. Cullen always remembered, and made it a real place. :D Yay for jokes coming full circle?!
> 
> I didn't include all the words, but as the song is a huge 'theme song' for Asta, I might as well.
> 
> "The Queen of Argyll" (as sung by Silly Wizard, because they are probably my favorite version of this song.)
> 
> Gentlemen it is my duty  
> To inform of one beauty  
> Though I'd ask of you a favor  
> Not to seek her for awhile.  
> Though I own she is a creature  
> Of character and feature  
> No words can paint the picture  
> Of the Queen of all Argyll.
> 
> Chorus:  
> And if you could've seen her there  
> Boys, if you had just been there  
> The swan was in her movement  
> And the morning in her smile.  
> All the roses in the garden  
> They bow and ask for pardon  
> For not one could match the beauty  
> Of the Queen of all Argyll.
> 
> On the evening that I mention  
> I passed with light intention  
> Through the part of our dear country  
> Known for beauty and for style.  
> Being a place of noble thinkers  
> Of scholars and great drinkers  
> But above them all for splendor  
> Shone the Queen of all Argyll.
> 
> (Chorus)
> 
> So my lads I needs must leave you  
> My intentions not to grieve you  
> Nor indeed would I deceive you  
> Oh, I'll see you in a while.  
> I must find some way to gain her  
> Court her and attain her  
> I fear my heart's in danger  
> From the Queen of all Argyll.
> 
> (Chorus X2)


	59. Business as Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW at the beginning. Easy to skip - you'll only miss descriptions of the effort Cullen went to. Plot resumes after the break.

Their room was large and airy, a pitched ceiling with open beams and strange windows in the roof directly above their bed. “Are those…” Asta paused, “What did you call them, before?”

“Skylights,” Cullen grinned tensely. “The dwarf that designed them was excited to put his theory into practice at last. He wanted to use stained glass, but I insisted on clear - he was a bit grumpy, to be honest, but this - this is better, I think?” He was still desperate for her approval. “They don’t open, but there’s the balcony…”

“It’s lovely,” Asta murmured in awe, walking in a circle around the bed, still looking up. Thick frost had crawled up the panes, leaving tracings of leaves and mythical flowers, the stars barely visible between. The balcony in question was small, looking out onto the winter-chilled garden from a pair of stained glass doors that were vaguely reminiscent of the Dalish pattern she had loved at Skyhold, all waving grasses in green and gold.

“We’ll have to see about another bear rug,” Cullen mused, looking down at the sanded, but otherwise unfinished wooden floor. “The floor needs finishing… at least painted, if not stained. I’m afraid it will be frigid come morning, once the fire has died down.” The fireplace in question was already banked for the night, a soft glow coming from the embers, a sturdy mantel of solid wood framing a smooth riverstone chimney. “It’ll be rustic even when it‘s finally finished… nothing like your room at Skyhold…” he became aware of her shaking head and half-grin. “What? Is something wrong?”

“You had less than year to make this much progress. I’m surprised it has a roof and walls!” She laughed, her whole body shaking. “You‘re a miracle worker! It took me months just to find the materials for a training ground, much less the mages‘ tower!”

“I had help,” Cullen protested. “It was a huge undertaking - the Chargers had to pitch in, just a few weeks ago, to get the last of the floors laid. You ought to see the complaining letters I had from Krem and Ros! Its not as if I hammered a single nail or set a single stone in place - I couldn’t leave you alone with Pup and Pippa, after all - but once Josie took over the payment side of things, it just… smoothed out. Her and Mia work a little too well together, perhaps.”

Asta twined her arms around his neck, “Cullen Rutherford, I adore you. Only you would protest taking credit for all of this, when every single detail shows you planned it. And now that we‘re here, I highly doubt that you‘ll go a single day without picking up a hammer or a plane, or taking care of whatever needs doing.”

“Branson is behind on the furniture,” Cullen continued sheepishly. “The library has a rough table, but your future desk is in pieces. We have dining chairs, but not sitting chairs… all the rooms have beds, at least… but he says he could use my help with some of the rougher woodwork… or laying paths…”

Asta squeezed his neck to get him to stop. “I’m beginning to see the why to all the letters,” she teased.

Cullen reached behind her, looping his arms around her waist. “And you like it? You‘re not just saying it to be nice?”

Asta reached up to kiss him, setting her seal of approval on his lips. “Will you show me how to use a hammer?”

Cullen laughed against her mouth, “The hammering is my job, Josie says,” he smirked, and Asta kissed his lower lip again, only breaking away once he was panting. “Is that the way it is, Inquisitor?”

“I want to help,” Asta murmured, letting him pick her up and carrying her to their new bed, covered with a goosedown comforter that she sank down into, before meeting a firm mattress. “It’s my house. I’ve never had a house before.”

“Only a castle,“ Cullen teased, and knelt over her, unfastening her shirt. “There’s plenty of you to do. Just ask Josie.” He paused, “But some of the outbuildings, and the roof on the kennel still need shingling. Since you aren’t scared of heights…”

Asta laughed, and pulled him down into her body. “Whatever needs doing. That’s what the Inquisitor does. Tomorrow, teach me how to shingle a roof, Ser Knight.”

“With joy, my lady,” Cullen laughed as she rolled them both over. They jostled for the top position, feathers puffing around them, before Cullen won, pinning her down with a firm hum. “Stay there,” he whispered. Asta relaxed at once.

Cullen blew the puffy down away with short puffs of laughter before bending to kiss her, Asta arching up under him, trying to meet him halfway.

He assisted her efforts, placing a single palm under her back and drawing her breastband away with his teeth, avoiding her nipples, but kissing around the orb gently. They lost track of the rest of the stray feathers, then, losing themselves in favor of finding each other, in the sanctity and privacy of their room. Asta found him, first, pressing him into her with a gasp, echoed by his groan. The cooler air of the room, and the heat from their breath made them both shiver and then shake as they ceased to notice their surroundings at all, falling into each other with the sort of abandon they had so rarely had the opportunity to display.

The noise didn’t matter, here. Neither one had any doubt that every single one of their guests knew exactly what was happening, and didn’t fucking care. Their friends were blissfully happy for them, for finding their own place in the world. Even the kids were sleeping.

It was the sort of perfection that didn’t happen more than once or twice in a lifetime, with luck.

“This whole time, I wanted to tell you,” Cullen admitted afterwards, Asta twined in his arms, head under his chin. He kissed her head. “A thousand and one things I wanted to ask you about. I wasn’t even sure if you’d like the surprise… I thought you might be angry, I took so many liberties… only Sister Dorcas kept me sane, telling me that you‘d be happy even if I built the house in the middle of the Fallow Mire, and left out all of the windows and doors. She claimed you‘d appreciate the privacy, then.” He chuckled. “She was rather short with me towards the end. It‘s a miracle she came at all.”

Asta rolled over to face him, propping herself up on her good arm, “Cullen, you do worry too much.” She kissed him again and twisted a nearly too long curl around her finger, still damp from exertion. “You know… I don’t feel much like sleeping,” she said shyly, caressing his inner thigh. “Are you tired?”

Cullen startled, “Really?” His smile grew. “Again?”

“Yes?” Asta flushed. “Ian will be up shortly anyway, probably. If you don’t mind staying up with me…”

“Always,” Cullen choked, and reached up to rest his forehead against hers. “I believe we’ve both earned a lie-in?”

“Oh, I doubt we’ll get that, earned or not, not with Pippa or Ian giving us our wake up calls,” Asta giggled. “But maybe we’ll get a nap, if we play our cards right with Mia. After we meet with Josie, and survey her endless lists…”

Cullen flopped back with a groan. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Nonsense,” Asta contradicted, slapping his thigh. “It’ll be a pleasure, and you know it.”

***

A far more rested Josie read over the letter again quickly, nodding with satisfaction, and then handed it to Asta. “Here it is, Inquisitor. The final draft of the letter for your father. It took a great deal of… tweaking… to get it to this state. But I am sending it, with your approval, and copies to several other dignitaries, as discussed.” She puffed out a breath of frustration. “I’m sorry it took this long. It was a very delicate situation to address, but I‘m pleased with the result.”

Asta frowned and focused on the page in front of her. “Very well, Josie, let‘s see what you‘ve got.”

 

_Bann Trevelyan,_

_I send you greetings. You may remember me, as I first wrote to you back in Haven, asking you for your family’s assistance with our cause. Over the years your considerable influence has impacted the Inquisition in many ways, not the least with the addition of your oldest son to our ranks. He alone was responsible for many of the best outcomes in our fight against the Venatori. In many ways the Inquisition is indebted to you._

_However, times change. Since the recent fire at Skyhold, of which I have no doubt you have heard, our Inquisitor Asta Rutherford has elected to scale back our work. Because of this situation, and despite your recent offers to assist her with the burden of raising her sister’s daughter, we no longer see the need to keep drawing upon your generous nature._

_While the Inquisition remains, we will be focusing less on Chantry matters, leaving those to the Divine, and refocusing our attention on restoring ages of lost knowledge, and maintaining peaceful relationships between nations, in the hope that during the next conflict Thedas is drawn into, the groups involved will have more information than we were given. Since your original assistance was based on the assumption that your daughter was the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor agrees with me that we need to give you the option to withdraw gracefully._

_We thank you for your past support._

_In the matter of Philippa Trevelyan Rutherford, she has the finest scholars in Thedas overseeing her education. In addition, we have attached a recent missive from Divine Victoria, the Most Holy, which pertains directly to both Miss Trevelyan’s situation in particular and the fate of all mages that emerge post-Rebellion. Thedas is changing, my Lord, and it would be a mistake to remain too rooted in tradition._

_I assume by your letter that you intend to name Miss Trevelyan your heir. Allow me to assure you that she is happy, healthy, and being raised in a manner that will reflect well upon her family name. I look forward to the day she assumes the position to which she is entitled, and applaud you for your forward-thinking. With your example, perhaps many of our noble families will also step forward and embrace the estranged. Thedas cannot afford to do less. We are all stronger together._

_If you continue to press this issue, rest assured that the Inquisition will not sit idle. Do not mistake the Inquisitor’s diplomatic nature for weakness again, Bann Trevelyan. Velvet gloves form fists, and words cut sharper than any dagger. We wield both._

_I remain,_

_Lady Josephine Montilyet_

_Ambassador to the Inquisition_

 

“Oh, Josie,” Asta’s face shone. “It’s a masterpiece.” She swallowed, and handed it back. “Send it immediately.”

“With pleasure,” Josie smiled wickedly. “I almost hope he does push too far. I have a few… thoughts. I‘m not without contacts in the Free Marches beyond our beloved Viscount and Prince Vael.”

Asta chuckled. “I think I can restrain myself from such a hope. Perhaps. It would be best for Pippa if we try to maintain civilities. She’s upset enough as it is.” Pausing, Asta shifted gears, “Any other business, Ambassador? Have we heard from the King?”

Josie pursed her lips again. “No. I am reluctant to write again. It is not wise to appear to beg, and I have no doubt that he is aware of our presence. Technically speaking, we do not need permission to be here, it is merely a concession to his authority over his country and our seemingly prior connection…”

“Can we request an audience, then?” Asta interrupted, her face vague. “Perhaps Cullen and I can travel to Denerim, with Sister Dorcas, and a few of our more prominent mages? He said, after the Venatori were routed, that he was in our debt… can we remind him of that? Gently?”

Josie’s forehead wrinkled. “Your husband at least is his subject. If the request came from him, and not from the Inquisition…” she sighed. “I will see what I can do.” She took a deep breath. “And now, we need to deal with a recent missive from Thom Rainier. I would describe it as cryptic, as it involved... this?” She flourished a white feather.

Cullen grabbed it, marveling. “That’s a griffon feather! Where did he find…”

“That’s odd,” Asta mused, taking it from him. “Where did he find another one?” She explained, swiftly, to her advisor‘s confusion. “We found one, together, long ago. But it was grey and brown, not white…” she frowned. “What does the letter say, Josie?”

“There was no letter. Only this…” her hand shook slightly as she handed over his Warden badge, in the shape of griffon wings.

Asta sucked in her breath. “That’s… ominous. Cullen?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know about Warden customs. Wouldn’t they send a letter, at least, if he were…”

“What happened at Weisshaupt?” Asta asked herself quietly, drumming her fingers on their rough work table. “Josie, please request Hawke’s version of events while they traveled. I know she left Stroud behind, but… perhaps she has insight? They allowed her to leave, didn‘t they? Didn‘t she say that Stroud was arguing with his superiors? Surely the Order wouldn‘t let it dissolve into violence…” She dropped that train of thought, recognizing that her knowledge of the Wardens was incomplete.

Josie nodded, quickly. “I will do so immediately. Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“Thom’s one of us,” Asta assured her. “I will do everything I can. Let’s… not assume the worst. Perhaps it’s a request for assistance, or something like that.” Josie paled further. “I don’t… Josie, I don’t mean… perhaps he…” she failed to think of a positive spin. “We’ll find out, in any case.”

“Of course we will,” Cullen nodded. “How did we receive this? Messenger?”

“It was left in my tent before we left Skyhold,” Josie confessed. “I didn’t know what to do… it was such a tumultuous time…”

“You should have said something, Josie!” Asta criticized. “We’ve lost valuable time. Let’s send a group to Weisshaupt from Kirkwall, Rylen, if we don‘t have a group that is closer. Well armed, and prepared for trouble. Include… include someone good at sneaking, just in case?” She frowned at the feather, handing it back to Josie. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I have just the group, Inquisitor,” Rylen’s lips pinched. “Though I should probably advise you against direct involvement in Warden affairs…”

“It’s just an inquiry into a friend‘s wellbeing,” Asta’s eyes twinkled sharply. “And I’d love to find out how Stroud is coping, wouldn’t you? Send another group to the Orlesian Wardens, if they haven’t all been recalled to Weisshaupt, Bull? Cullen, didn‘t you say you‘d rather lay siege to another Warden fortress before keeping another secret from me?”

“You got it, Boss.”

Cullen groaned, “Weisshaupt has never been taken…” he stopped, realizing that she was teasing. Thus far at least. “Inquisitor, that is unkind.”  Asta winked at him.

“Just something to keep in mind!   Otherwise, let’s adjourn,” Asta smiled. “We all have unpacking to do.”


	60. The Carrot and the Stick

“We’re not the Inquisition.” Asta folded her arms while staring down Arl Leonas Bryland, the Arl of South Reach and hero of the Rebellion, who waylaid her under guise of welcoming her to the area, in front of their house.  She was a little surprised that he had come himself.  “The Inquisition is based out of Kirkwall since Skyhold burned, until repairs can be started in the spring. I’m still the Inquisitor, but we are not the Inquisition. These are merely my friends and family. The Rutherfords have lived in South Reach since the Blight. They may not be one of your oldest families, but that‘s got to be worth something.”

“You’re not the Inquisition,” the Arl repeated in disbelief, though not unkindly. “Yet you descend on our Arldom with mercenaries and _mages_ in tow… believe us when we tell you we‘ve reported this - incursion - to the King. We’re sure he‘ll be fascinated that the Inquisitor is flaunting his ban on rebel mages…”

Asta prayed that Josie - or even Sera - would suddenly appear and save her from nobles. The Arl’s use of the royal ’we’ was grating on her nerves. He was an arl, not the Archon. “We’re not the Inquisition,“ she repeated for the fifth time. “And the mages in our party are not rebels.” _Any longer… mostly…_ she qualified silently. “They have far different backgrounds, for the most part. The adult mages are… they’re…” the arl waited impatiently for her to finish her sentence. She couldn’t say that they belonged to the Mage Collective - that was far too closely associated with the rebels, true or not. And if Fiona was recognized as the former Grand Enchanter… she bit her lip, deciding to move the woman out of the inn and into the house. Maybe she could share a room with Lady Cerastes?

She was saved by Petri. “We’re all part of the Collected Archivists and Researchers Revealing Old Thedas,” he supplied from behind a massive crate, lowering it to the ground extremely gently. “It’s not a matter of just being a mage any longer, my Lord. I‘m from Minrathous, myself. I‘ve never rebelled against anything.”

“Oh,” the Arl simultaneously looked confused and mildly impressed, “I’ve never heard of… You’ve… expanded, then? Or moved on?”

“Something like that,” Asta hedged, wondering which it truly was. “Pray excuse me, my Lord, but as much as I would love to discuss this further, giving you due respect, I have other urgent matters to deal with. I will have Lady Montilyet send a messenger requesting a formal meeting where we can all discuss our status and my family’s role in what we hope will be our home community. Master Cerastes, would you accompany me?” The Arl protested only slightly as Asta pulled herself away from the Arl’s ambush.

Her eyebrows had neatly arrowed towards her nose, as she dragged Petri away and through the double doors of the library. “The Collected Archivists and Researchers Revealing Old Thedas? CARROT? Really?” She nodded at Bull as he stopped to listen.

“Look, if Ferelden was upset enough about the Inquisition perched in the Frostbacks, just near their border, they’re going to self-combust at you moving into South Reach. Don’t you think it’s better…” Petri justified.

“But CARROT?!” Asta fumbled to object. “Of all the possible acronyms… and Arl Bryland has the reputation of being a good, logical man! It‘s the mages that he‘s concerned about. He backed the King in the Landsmeet, he‘s not stupid!”

Bull snickered. Petri flushed, “It was better than STICK? The Society of Translators Inquiring into Codexed Knowledge?”

Bull grunted, “I definitely prefer STICK. Koslun’s Ass, I miss Dorian.”

“CARROT is infinitely superior to STICK, Amatus,” a cultured voice called out from behind a tall bookshelf, the corner mostly hidden. “Asta, my dear, this is a vast improvement over the tents Cullen had me expecting… you could almost call this little alcove a library… a few more comfortable chairs are needed, perhaps…”

Dorian didn’t get out another word, as Bull had charged, grabbed, spun and slammed him up against the wall. He squeaked and folded himself immediately around the larger man.

Asta watched, endlessly amused, while they greeted each other. Petri stared openly, mouth hanging open. “Asta…” he muttered at last, “No one started processing Blood Lotus essence in the stockroom, did they? Dorian… Dorian is…”

“Absolutely not hallucinating, and it’s the wrong season for fresh blood lotus,” Asta wiped her tears away, touched. “I should go. Emily will want to see her Dad, though I‘ll give her a warning to give them some time…” She shook herself and noticed Petri, still staring. “Um, Petri, unless you’re going to join them, we should probably…”

“What?!!” Petri leapt about two inches in the air. “Maker, no! I… I don‘t…” he stared again. “Are they going to do that… here?” He nodded towards a couple of fragile crates. “Perhaps I should move…”

“Come on,” Asta laughed, “They won’t notice either of us for a while. Dorian will be suitably chagrined enough without reminding him he had an audience.” She nudged him as they left the room. “How’s it going with Minaeve?”

“She’s more than ready for any Harrowing that can be managed,” Petri confessed, his eyes still blurry. “Otherwise, it’s… not. I’m her teacher, nothing else. It wouldn’t be appropriate…”

Asta rolled her eyes, “For as persistent as you were in Minrathous I wouldn’t have thought you were this good at putting up barriers. First she was an elf, and you‘re a ‘Vint. Now you‘re her teacher…”

“I’m known for my barriers, actually,” Petri punned, grinning as Asta groaned. “And our… flirtation back home was different. You were taken. I got too serious, yes, crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed, but it was safe. Well within Tevinter society‘s limits.”

“Never tell Cullen that,” Asta recommended, “For a while there he thought our marriage was over.”

“I’m so sorry,” Petri smirked with satisfaction, and Asta shoved him sideways. “I thought I had lost my touch. But… I’m afraid Minaeve has to make the next move. If there is a next move. She’s put me off too many times.”

“How many is too…”

“Once, officially,” Petri winced in memory. “On top of the mage tower. She… kissed me, said she cared, we kissed again. Twice. And then she told me it would never work and not to follow her. And ran away. I could only obey.” He shrugged sadly. “She was direct and blunt.”

“And unofficially?”

Petri blushed. “I may have asked Helisma if she could give me a reason that it would never work. She listed four, and then said she wasn’t at liberty to go on, as the other reasons were all subjective to Minaeve‘s personal opinion or a matter of privacy. But she doesn’t need a reason to reject me…”

“She was an agent of Fen’Harel,” Asta blurted out, unwisely, and then covered her mouth. “Shit. If Bull was here instead of between Dorian’s thighs I would be in so much trouble. That’s classified…”

“She’s…” Petri’s face went blank and then hard. “I see. So she was… using me. Keeping an eye on how close we were getting to the true nature of the Veil… Maker, I’m such a fool.”

“That’s not…” Asta protested, wincing, “Petri, she likes you! She’s just… ashamed of herself. She confessed after the fire, said she couldn’t work for someone who had no respect for innocent lives! It‘s all in the past!” Her words fell on deaf ears.

“A likely story,” Petri choked.

They reached the parlor and Minaeve was there, reading on the recently introduced sofa. “Master Cerastes,” she stood, her face flushed with excitement. “Commander Rylen says that he has made the arrangements for my Harrowing. I thought I should thank you…”

“Good,” Petri snarled. “I wish you luck.” He turned on his heel and left.

Minaeve watched him go, with her ears drooping slightly. “You told him, didn’t you.”

“I don’t seem to be able to get this right,” Asta admitted. “I wanted to explain…”

“It’s better that he knows,” the woman choked out. “It’s better…” she sunk back into the seat, and folded herself into thirds, tucking her feet beneath her robes. “Maker, how stupid I am.”

Asta slid into the chair next to her. “He told me you would have to make the next move, before…”

“I was going to tell him everything, if I passed…” Minaeve stared blankly. “I’m not sorry he knows. I wanted him to know, I just hoped that he‘d be able to… But I was wrong. He can’t get past who I am and what I‘ve done, after all. I’m just…”

“I could try to talk to him again,” Asta offered reluctantly. “Perhaps three times is the charm?”

“No,” Minaeve wiped her eyes. “No. I’ll do it. Afterward. If… when I pass. Like I planned before. Then I will, if he listens,” she sat up. “I will pass and then we‘ll see. Thank you, Inquisitor. I’m sorry to take up your time this way.”

“Minaeve, when…”

“Tomorrow,” Minaeve supplied, staring at the ground. “It will be tomorrow. One way or the other.”

***

The next morning, Asta was making her way to Cullen’s latest construction project, Ian bundled in a sling on her hip, her mind anywhere but on the Harrowing that was supposed to take place at dawn.

“Inquisitor!” Lady Cerastes was bustling, attempting to catch up with her. “Inquisitor!”

Asta stopped, shifting Ian upright. He was starting to get heavy. “Lady Cerastes, what can I do for you?”

“I was approached by a young lady,” the woman glowed. “Someone interested in my Petri!”

“Shit,” Asta muttered to Ian, who grinned at his mother, looking a bit too much like his father for comfort, and immediately stuck a hand in his mouth to gum it enthusiastically. “Don’t tell your Da I said that,” she whispered and continued, louder. “Indeed, Lady Cerastes? That’s… surprising news! Anyone I know?”

“Mistress Minaeve,” the Lady enthused, and Asta stumbled, Ian squealing with excitement at the change in direction. “Are you all right, Inquisitor?”

“Just a little dizzy,” Asta confessed. “Minaeve spoke… to you?” Her voice was weak, and Ian started laughing at the silly expression on his mother’s face, patting her reddened cheek gently.

“Yes! She came straight from that ritual she’s been studying so hard for, and said she had been reading about Tevinter courting norms, and as she didn’t have any family felt like she should approach me herself…” Lady Cerastes beamed, “It was a trifle irregular, I admit, but she’s such a charming girl, and so knowledgeable! We had the most fascinating discussion of Dalish wedding ceremonies - I cannot wait to tell Petri! Do you think he’ll be interested? Will you come with me when I tell him?”

Asta looked in her son’s eyes, and he bounced on her hip, burbling a little. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this,” she admitted, her voice strained. “Did you… come to an agreement, or something of the like?”

“What?” Lady Cerastes startled. “Of course not. If he doesn’t approve, then nothing will come of it. We’re not in the Imperium now - I don’t have to bend and nod to anyone else’s antiquated opinions. Minaeve’s intelligent, and opinionated, and a _mage,_ and so sweet and thoughtful. She knows five different ways to take down a Fear demon, did you know?!”

“I didn’t,” Asta swallowed. “I must ask her to share.”

“She went into great detail about her Harrowing ritual! She had three Fear demons coming right for her, and she killed them all, on her own, in less than half an hour! We talked for - oh, nearly two hours before I came to find you!” Lady Cerastes marveled. “Such a delight, having a prospective daughter in law I can talk to! My other four boys all married well, but their wives aren’t the brightest wicks in the candelabra,” the Lady winked at her. “Well-born, of course, but that doesn’t matter, here. Petri is without status, this far from the Imperium. She‘ll do quite well.”

“It doesn’t bother you that she is elven?” Asta asked cautiously.

“She was largely educated in the Circle, not in a Dalish clan,” the lady corrected. “She is elven by race, true, but Circle by education. Her studies into the Veil, and the Fade, and into the natural world are quite beyond anything I‘ve ever encountered! She and Helisma have enough information to publish several times over! I gather you helped with that,” the lady cast her an approving smile. “Samples are so difficult to come by for those of us disinclined to field work, my dear. I’m so glad you were helpful to her.”

“But does she believe in Andraste?” Asta shook her head. Had that really just come out of her mouth? What did she care?

Lady Cerastes stopped and frowned at her. “I thought you were an atheist? Or agnostic, at least?”

“I am,” Asta agreed. “One or the other. It tends to change, almost daily.”

“As it turns out, she doesn’t believe in the Evanuris,” Lady Cerastes had relaxed again. “She remains unsure about Andraste‘s divinity. You really ought to discuss it with her. She’s an exceptional debater. In any case, one can hardly expect any elf to believe in any form of the Chantry when one considers what the Southern Chantry did to them during the Second Exalted March.” The lady frowned again, “Isn’t this your field?”

“It is,” Asta squeaked, and Ian laughed at the funny sound, and twisted his fingers in her hair. “Ouch,” she attempted to disentangle herself. “Ian!”

“Allow me, my dear,” the lady unwound his little fingers with a kiss to his palm. “Such a sweetheart,” she cooed. “Maybe I’ll get to have more grandchildren of my own. I do miss them,” she sighed.

“Grandchildren,” Asta echoed, choking. “How many…”

“Fifteen!” Lady Cerastes grinned. “5 boys and 10 girls. No one can say the Cerastes family line doesn’t do its part! Not for our line, the ’have a single son or daughter and pressure them to reproduce to carry on the family name’ route. My other four boys have done quite well on that front. Petri‘s the only holdout.”

“That’s… wonderful,” Asta broke down and laughed. “Lady Cerastes, I am so glad Petri brought you with him.”

“He knew I’d be wasted in Marnas Pell,” the lady admitted. “My lord has been dead for six years and I‘ve been horribly lonely. All my sons but Petri married, most settled far away. Busy with their lives and children. My father in law is an aged stick in the mud who shuts himself up experimenting with metals all day. He was quite the firebrand in his youth, right on the cusp of new discoveries, but he’s mellowed most disagreeably. I was bored, my dear. Positively molding away. This is…” she beamed at her, “this is almost like I’m young again myself, working with your people. I adore it. Fresh minds…” she sighed with contentment. “I wasn’t meant for retirement. My lord made it bearable, with his company, but… this is better for me. I should have moved on, long before now.”

They reached Petri’s chambers, and knocked politely. Petri came to the door, puzzled. “Mother. Inquisitor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Minaeve passed her Harrowing,” Asta supplied as an introduction. Petri nodded slowly, his face hard. “Afterward she went to talk to _your mother._ As one does. In Tevinter. When they have an… interest.”

Petri blanched. “Dumat’s Silence, no.”

“Language,” Lady Cerastes criticized. “Do you not like her, Petri? I adore her. Such a bright one! And such hair,” the Lady said with great approval. “Mine wasn’t so different, when I was her age. Faded darker all too soon, I’m afraid. But the possibility is there for you to have red-haired children. None of my grandchildren have my hair,” she admitted to Asta nostalgically. “I keep hoping, but the boys all took after their father… still, sometimes these things skip a generation…”

“Mother, I’m afraid I…”

Asta held up a hand. “You told me it was her move. She made one, Petri. According to Tevinter customs, no less. You could have asked for nothing more.”

Lady Cerastes’ face lit up again, brighter than a torch. “Oh, Petri, you’re already attached?! Better and better…”

“No, mother…” Petri stammered. “I mean, yes, she knows how… but she told me it would never work!” he offered the last feebly. “We’re hardly at the stage where… anything could come of… whatever this is. Which it isn‘t. Anything.”

“Evidently she changed her mind,” Asta suppressed a giggle. “She’s trying to do this your way, Petri, my friend,” she finished, with a sly smile. “She told me she was going to tell you everything when she passed her Harrowing.”

“Really?” Petri looked blank. “When she passed? Not if?”

“When,” Asta emphasized. “Three Fear demons, apparently. I’d say that was definitive, don’t you?”

“So we need to set up a meeting,” Lady Cerastes clapped like a small child. Ian laughed at the sound, and she beamed at him. “Such a sweet boy. You should let me borrow him, Inquisitor. I do miss my grandchildren. If you ever need a break, I‘d be happy to have him for a few hours.”

“Mother, can I… handle this?” Petri blushed. “It’s not like we’re home. Minaeve is trying to show respect for our culture, but its not hers. And some of the traditions are ridiculous. We work together, for one. Closely. I’m not meeting her for the first time, and we’re both adults. We don’t need a chaperone, or a party to celebrate, or a meeting of our families… she doesn‘t even have a family…”

Lady Cerastes looked mildly disappointed. “But Petri, your brothers all had a party when they met their intended officially. Can’t we…”

“She’s not my intended, yet,” Petri pointed out, his voice tight. “These are still… negotiations. Sort of. I‘m sure the Dalish do this… differently? However arranged the marriages, in most cases? The Dalish do arrange marriages, don‘t they?” He asked Asta, desperately. “Perhaps I should do a little reading?”

“Minaeve says they do, in most cases,” Lady Cerastes was nearly bouncing now. “She says they have to keep the bloodlines strong, so in many cases, they arrange for marriages across clans, unless there is a strong attachment within the clan, and no other impediment. Oh, Petri, such a fascinating culture! We talked for hours! Did you know they eat larvae?! I‘m dying to try it! Fereldan cuisine is altogether lacking in new textures and flavors…”

Asta decided to throw Petri to the wolves, as it were. “I’m sure my Ambassador can arrange a party. Possibly even with larvae based dishes, if necessary. Dorian would love to help, Petri. He wouldn‘t miss the opportunity to celebrate if it means good wine.”

Petri covered his eyes with a single hand. “Don’t tell the Ambassador, for the Maker‘s sake, Inquisitor, and certainly not Dorian. Mother, please don‘t go eating any larvae? That sounds like a way to get a disease. Just let me talk to Minaeve. Alone?”

“Soon?” Asta prompted, with a flash of smile just for Lady Cerastes who nodded smugly while he wasn’t looking.

“As soon as I can find her,” Petri sighed and looked back up. “Just… don’t tell anyone until… after I speak with you again. Please.”

“I left her in the garden,” Lady Cerastes allowed, with a calculating smile.

As Asta and Lady Cerastes turned the corner away from his room, they heard muffled cursing through the walls. The lady chuckled. “Inquisitor, I haven‘t had so much fun teasing Petri since before he joined a Circle. Let‘s do that again sometime.”

“I’d be delighted,” Asta grinned. “Now, should we speak to Josie? Or shall we keep our word?”

“A heads up, at least,” Lady Cerastes recommended thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine where we will find an appropriate wine if we don’t give her a chance to find a sommelier. Do they even have sommelier in Ferelden? Their ale here is divine, I admit, but their wine leaves much to be desired… though that strawberry version at your housewarming was refreshing… does your sister in law make that herself? I couldn‘t stop drinking it. I haven‘t had a hangover like that in twenty years.”

“Oh, you don’t know Dorian, then,” Asta smirked. “He’ll take care of the wine. When he finally emerges. It won’t be long now. Probably.”

“Is Magister Pavus unwell?” Lady Cerastes asked with concern. “I was hoping to greet him… I understand he is quite the accomplished necromancer. I‘d rather like to discuss with him the differences between the Nevarran and Tevinter Mortalitasi.”

“Oh, he’ll be around when he’s ready,” Asta smiled fully. “He’s just… been away. From a certain person.”

“Oh,” the lady flushed. “I understand. When my lord was absent… well, there’s a reason we had five sons,” she mused. “His own research took him away often. He was researching the properties of dragon‘s blood…” she sighed, and patted Asta’s arm gently. “Don’t worry, my dear. If you want more children, there are ways to make work possible and not lose yourself to your children‘s needs. Even without a lot of help. It’s all about setting boundaries.”

“I’m not sure I do…” Asta began, with a nearly apologetic look at Ian who merely stuffed his fist in his mouth, drooling madly.

“With a Dreamer, I understand completely,” the Lady continued, “I understand they tend to have very difficult adolescences,” she confided. “Still, if you need a hand, I’m here. My boys were all different, and difficult in their own ways. Let me tell you about my middle boy, Vincentus… strong magic, but was absolutely convinced he wanted to join the Templars, of all the jobs! The trouble his father and I had convincing him that he would never be allowed to join a soporati Order…” the woman chuckled. “But he had his way in the end. The only mage to ever be admitted to the Templar Order. Quite the scandal, at the time.” she smiled fondly. “As stubborn as his father. Bless him.”

“I’ll tell Grace you liked the wine,” Asta blinked blankly. Apparently the Cerastes family wasn’t afraid to ruffle a few robes occasionally.

“Do that,” Lady Cerastes patted her arm. “I’d love a bottle to send home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... the society for Rebellious Archivists finally has a name. CARROT. It's about time! And now I will have to officially update my tags.


	61. Family Matters

“Amica!” Dorian flung his arms wide as if just arriving, and not just emerging from Mia’s to socialize with something other than his immediate family for the first time in a week. He was even darker than usual, and Asta worried idly just what kind of trouble he had found himself in.

“Dorian! You finally let Bull go!” Asta laughed, and threw herself at him instead of fussing, feeling the bones beneath his clothes, too loose even on the tightest buckle, shifting Ian to her hip just in time to embrace him without squishing the baby. “It’s good to see you,” tears came to her eyes, despite her best efforts. It was so good to see him. “Dorian, you‘ve let yourself get skinny.” She poked a prominent rib to make her point.

“Now, now, let’s not get maudlin so soon,” Dorian choked. “And I am not skinny. I’m… toned and lean.” He cleared his throat. “I hated to miss… well. You know. Everything. I‘m sorry…” He blinked his damp eyes, electing not to continue that line of conversation in favor of admiring Ian. “And this is my namesake? Godson, I understand, no less?” He looked smug. “I bet Mother Giselle adored that. Nosy old biddy.”

“He’s Ian, not Dorian,” Asta corrected. “Ian Magnus Rutherford, the first of that name, this is your uncle Dorian.” Asta waved her son’s hand, and he giggled madly.

“Magnus. A trifle old fashioned, but charming,” Dorian drawled, taking the baby’s hand and bowing. “Let me have him then. Little man has to learn all about his Uncle Dorian and how hard it is to be this fabulous.” Ian stared up at the mage and grinned as he was transferred. “Already he has marvelous taste,” Dorian choked back his tears and looked at Asta. “You look amazing, Amica. I bet Cullen adores those…”

Asta swatted his arm. “Stop it. You’re not fooling anyone with the flirting, Dorian. My tits don’t compare with Bull‘s, even now, and you know it.”

“Merely being polite,” Dorian grinned. “You do look fabulous, though. Motherhood suits you,” he said softly. “Surely this paragon of chubby adorableness isn‘t much trouble for you?”

“Not yet,” Asta admitted. “He’s very portable. I’m told by several people that all bets will be off when he starts walking. Even when Skyhold burned, it was just a matter of making sure we had enough warm clothes and nappies. I’m still his walking kitchen, so his food was easy. And not everything burnt. We’re assured by the group of soldiers still there that the bones remain. We just have to… rebuild. Again.” Asta’s face went hard.

“Will you?” Dorian asked even more quietly.

“It’s… undecided. Perhaps for the mages, if we don‘t have another option. Josie is planning a trip to Denerim to appeal on their behalf, but the King hasn‘t agreed to speak with us,” Asta whispered, and changed the subject. “But Dorian… your trip! Tell me a story!”

“Well, it’s not over,” Dorian corrected. “The Archon still lives. It’s possible it wasn’t him at all. But I’m convinced this goes clear to the top,” he contradicted himself. “I just don’t have the necessary proof yet. Things got a little… hot, back home, so I thought I’d swing back this way and let things calm down a little,” he admitted. “You know Bull sulks if I stay away too long. Speaking of which…” he put on a stern face. “I came home to discover seven dogs think they own my side of the bed. Seven. Dogs _. How,_ Amica, did Bull manage to adopt a Mabari? A Mabari with six puppies, apparently sired by your esteemed husband‘s brute?! I‘m holding you all responsible!”

“A Mabari adopted him,” Asta corrected. “Talk to Hermes. He can probably explain it better than I. And the puppies will be transferred to the kennel after weaning…”

“No,” Dorian argued instantly. “I want it from you. You know nearly everything… how could you let this happen!” He sighed, melodramatically. “I have banished Ma’am and her _brood_ from the bed, and Emily now understands that she has to keep her impeccably groomed, since Bull’s regrettable lack of a complete set of fingers means he can’t handle the necessary braids and fasteners, but none of those… fiends… have much in the way of training. I’m positive it’s your husband’s fault. Several find it necessary to _chew_ on my shoes! Antivan leather, Amica!”

“Braids? Fasteners?”

“Emily does them in the Qunari style,” Dorian explained, as if that explained everything. “When Ma’am’s fur is braided back, she picks up less leaves and sticks and sheds far, far less.” His nostrils pinched in memory. “That doesn’t help the smell. Perhaps the Kennelmaster will have something for that? I know that… back home… dogs don‘t smell this badly. Perhaps… perhaps Maevaris could send me something?”

Asta looked at him closely, as he played with Ian’s nose and made faces at the baby, trying to deflect his own discomfort at the mention of his home country. “What did you set on fire, Dorian?”

“Me?” Dorian protested. Asta frowned. “It… well, it may have been…” he sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. “I may have started something that could be described by those tending to exaggerate as an ’incident’ at a party. After the slaves got out, I assure you. No lives lost. Just a large house and a slight… singeing of a few key guests. Handy fellow in a pinch, that Fenris. I must thank Varric for introducing me. Hates me with a passion, naturally. Thought a few times he was going to remove my heart with his fist. But Danarius was an asshole, so I don’t blame him in the least. If anyone ever had a reason…” Dorian shuddered. “Gruesome, what he did to him.” He shrugged off her concern. “I’ll tell you more later, when I’m not busy hopelessly corrupting your spawn. Such stories are not for young ears,” he smiled at the child again. “Now, where’s your daughter? I hear the oddest things, Amica…”

Asta hesitated, “Pippa is probably with her cousins. She usually is, this time of day, once she‘s finished her studies.” Her hand fidgeted with the hem of her tunic. “Not that her studies ever really end…”

“You went the Avvar route,” Dorian accused instantly. “Amica…”

Asta folded her arms. “It was her choice, Dorian. Not mine.”

“She’s an abomination,” Dorian hissed. “I could have found someone back home, Asta. Someone you could trust. You only had to ask.”

“We are not using that word. She has a teaching spirit,” Asta corrected. “It’s Hope, Dorian. You don’t honestly think that Hope will…”

“Hope corrupts into Apathy,” Dorian reminded her. “There are two sides to every spirit. Even Solas had Wisdom, once. We all know what happened to…”

“Do we, though?” Asta countered. “What did happen to Solas? I hardly think it‘s as cut and dried as…”

Pippa slid around the corner and into the library in her stocking feet, the recently finished and polished wood the perfect medium for such things. “Mum, my friends said I might want to come see you…” she stopped. “You’re him. The Magister. Mum‘s best friend.” She frowned, “I’m supposed to like you.”

“What‘s not to like?” Dorian recovered, smirking, his previous concern hidden instantly behind layers of snark. “And you’re her. My Amica‘s daughter. I‘m supposed to enjoy your company.” The two mages sized each other up. “So how often does your spirit come out to play?”

“It doesn’t,” Pippa replied, with a bluntness that was slightly unusual for her. “He’s not completely here. It’s more like… a spirit healer than an abomination. I‘m not going to go all humpbacked and monstrous any time soon.”

“Language, Pippa,” Asta reminded her with a sigh.

“It’s what he was thinking, Mum. Not me. He peeks through the Veil - like I’m a window, not a door - and talks to me, shows me what to do if I get stuck,” Pippa shrugged. “I have other teachers, too. Hope’s just better at the Dreaming part of things. I still have to practice here.” She tilted her head, and smiled. “It’s a bit like thinking all necromancers are blood mages, isn’t it?”

Dorian humphed, “Not at all.” He paused, “Well, perhaps. In one way of thinking. I suppose. Damn it, who taught you to argue with your elders?” He peered at her in approval. “You would take after your mother.”

“Not really,” Pippa sat down and swung her legs. “My first mum was pretty smart, when she wanted to be. Just a bit lazy, maybe. Didn’t see the point in working hard when she always lost everything. Don’t know about my father. He wasn‘t… around.”

Dorian looked her over again, a true smile starting to take root over his disapproving frown. “That settles it. Asta, don’t you see the family resemblance? Pippa looks like me!”

“What?” Pippa picked up his frown where he left off. “No, I don’t. I look like Mum, and Uncle Max. A bit, anyway. Mum, tell him he‘s wrong.”

“Dorian is fond of reminding me that we’re related to him, way back in the… Black Age, was it?” Asta asked Dorian. “I can never remember.”

“Something like that,” Dorian waved his free hand. “Don’t make me go through the mnemonics again, Amica. The truth is… your daughter looks like me! You must see it.” He beamed. “Can I call her cousin?”

“No,” Asta laughed. “You’re her uncle. Sort of.” She huffed, a blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Don’t confuse the relationship further.”

“But she takes after me! That hair!” Dorian hummed, “Gorgeous hair, by the way. You’re far prettier than your mother. Those eyes! That skin! Asta, my friend, if we go out in public, everyone will assume she’s mine. You must let me call her cousin.”

Pippa giggled. “I don’t mind. Emily will, though. She brags about you all the time. She‘s very proud of you. She‘ll be upset if you brag about me.”

“Oh, we can’t go disappointing the Sprog, it makes Bull fractious,” Dorian made a face. “You know my daughter well? She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

“She’s too grown up for me,” Pippa said politely. “She spends a lot of time flirting with the runners. Da says I can’t do that yet. It makes him nervous.”

“Well, she’s the right age,” Dorian grinned. “Driving Bull crazy, isn’t it, Asta? Knowing there’s literally nothing he can do?”

“He threatened two runners into quitting before we left Skyhold,” Asta drawled. “That’s hardly nothing.”

Dorian frowned, “I’ll have to talk to him about that. Flirtation is a skill that must be practiced. Yes, Emily’s young, but this is something she needs to learn, and learn well. She won‘t take it too far. Probably.”

“Speaking from experience, Magister Pavus?” Asta asked, amused.

“Where safer to sow some wild oats than in the remains of the Inquisition?” Dorian shrugged. “We’re not all starry-eyed idealists, but we’re infinitely better than her flirting with some common nug down in the village. How many of them will never look beyond her ears?”

Pippa smirked, “She went down into the village this afternoon, talking to a local friend about the stable boys at the inn,” she tattled. “They were going to get some cider, and hang out and watch them throw hay bales.”

Dorian paled, “Fasta Vass.” He thrust Ian back at Asta. “Excuse me, Amica. I have to go save my daughter from herself. Parenthood - the job that never ends?” Asta rolled her eyes. Two steps towards the door, he turned back, “Just how cute are the stable boys?” He directed the question at Pippa.

“Pretty cute,” Pippa admitted. “They’re brothers. They have nice shoulders, lovely brown eyes, and if one of them has spots, he still has a nice smile. One has freckles.” Asta watched her, a little worried for a moment. “Don’t worry, Mum. Not going there, yet. I‘ll warn you. Promise.”

“Hmmm,” Dorian weighed his options. “No, I’d better intervene. Unless… well, I’ll ask Bull. Maybe he has Skinner trailing her. Yes, that sounds much safer. Skinner would stick a knife in anything that tried to hurt the Sprog.” He still left though, muttering in preoccupation. “Still… stable boys? She can do better. She should aim for the Arl’s son. Does the Arl even have a son? A straight son, obviously, if Emily is looking at boys. I‘ll ask Josie, I know she must have notes on the locals. We need to arrange some formal flirting time. Just the thing for wild oats.”

“The Arl only has a grown daughter!” Asta called after him, and Dorian waved his thanks idly over his shoulder.

“Mum,” Pippa started once Dorian left the room, “Is Uncle Dorian insane?”

“No, lovey,” Asta laughed. “He’s just Dorian.” She set Ian down on the floor, where he shoved himself up into a seated position, babbling.

Pippa came over and sat down next to her. “You’ve missed him, my friends say. More than anyone else.”

“Except for your Da,” Asta cuddled her and kissed her hair. “Dorian was a friend when I needed one most. We‘ve been through things together that no one else remembers.”

“In the red and green future,” Pippa breathed. Asta stiffened. “It still happened, in the Fade. Da dreams about it, sometimes. About the time he died screaming.”

“No,” Asta protested. “It never happened… I prevented it.”

“It happened to you and Uncle Dorian. The spirits know about it, because you remember,” Pippa clarified. “The times it happened, the times it didn’t… here it didn’t. It’s better, here. Not as good as it could be, but still pretty good.”

“But Dorian reversed the magic…” Asta countered, trying to collect herself.

“Yes, but he didn’t erase it,” Pippa argued. “The spirits can’t tell the difference. It’s all based on our points of view, right? Your emotions about it are strong ones. So are Uncle Dorian’s. Both of you remember. Da was there. He died screaming, caught in crystal.” She looked stubborn. “So the demons try to match him up with that dream. Because he belongs in it. Uncle Bull dreams about it too, but… he doesn‘t remember.”

“Can we stop it?” Asta asked, her eyes searching Pippa’s in torment.

Pippa shook her head. “There’s no way. Not without blocking his access to the Fade with lyrium.” The far-away look crossed her face. “But Hope says that he’ll start singing to him, instead, on nights when I don‘t need him. That will keep some of the others away, some of the time, and Mercy will keep an eye out for him in the Fade otherwise. Will that help?”

“Yes,” Asta whispered. “Please.” Pippa stood up. “Pippa… don’t tell your Da about that dream?”

Pippa looked confused, “He already knows. He has it a lot.” She shrugged, “But all right, Mum. I won’t mention it.”

 


	62. In the Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... Andraste's Asta just recorded 12,000 hits. That's an average of 70 people reading all 170+ chapters of it. My first pic for public eyes, that I was so sure wasn't good enough, but posted anyway. The one that turned into a massive overgrown garden of headcanons and romance and somehow political drama and yet STILL somehow mostly makes sense. Kind of.
> 
> I'm more shocked than anyone.
> 
> In celebration of that and my birthday, and just because I feel like it, I'm posting an extra chapter today. It's NSFW. Yeah, most of it. ;) If you want to skip the smut, quit after the first break.
> 
> Enjoy. If you like that sort of thing.

The rustles from the other side of the library door were unusual, but not strange enough to keep Asta from entering without knocking. Likely Petri was rearranging scrolls, or…

“Oh!” She watched, wide-eyed, while the elf sitting on the table squeaked in shock, and refastened the top of her robes. Asta spun around while the couple adjusted themselves. “I’m so sorry, Minaeve, Petri. I had… I was just…” Blushing, she stared at the ceiling. “I was coming to look at that book on the Brecilian Forest, Petri. Some of the townspeople told me that the Hero of Ferelden passed through on her way to the Brecilian Forest, and they mentioned a story about a Dalish clan and a werewolf curse?” She giggled awkwardly. “I’m glad to see you two have forgiven and forgotten. Took you long enough.”

“It’s… all right,” Petri cleared his throat, and Asta turned around, still amused. “We were just…”

“Studying?” Asta offered. Minaeve blushed. “Even after the Harrowing? Or is this a Furrowing?” Petri cursed by Dumat, and turned nearly brown with embarrassment.

“I…” Minaeve fumbled. “We were just talking…”

Asta snickered, “Oh, I know. Don’t let me stop you. Nothing like ‘talking‘ is there?” She paused, “Minaeve, I don’t suppose you know anything about this Dalish clan?”

Minaeve frowned. “No. My Keeper didn’t like to travel to the Brecilian Forest.”

Asta nodded slowly. “Why is that?”

The girl shook her head. “I don’t know why. I was sent away. You know that. When I told him that I had learned about the vallaslin being slave markings in the Fade. He grew very angry and sent me away. I was seven.” She stared at the floor. “His First - his successor, since he was very old - was going to be a city elf, a former slave, that the clan had rescued. The clan didn’t need another mage - there was enough competition over the First position already, and some people were bitter. I remember that much, though not much else.” She looked up, worried. “I never even heard what happened to my former clan. I was picked up outside Crestwood by the Templars, I think, though it’s a bit hazy, and brought to Kinloch. I was in the Tower for more than a decade, longer than I ever was with my clan in the first place.”

Asta tapped the table, thinking. “Would either of you be interested in a short field trip to the Forest? I think… I think I’d like to look into this. The book mentioned Elvhen ruins, and we should investigate them for traces of an Eluvian, I think. Cullen says there are wolves in the forest… and while there may not be a connection with regular wolves, werewolves, and Fen‘Harel, I think it worth investigating, all the same.”

Minaeve interrupted, “There was an Eluvian found by the Mahariel clan here in Ferelden, but Merrill has it now!” She eagerly offered the information. “It was corrupted by the Blight and shattered! She‘s been trying to restore it for years!”

Asta’s brow furrowed, “Merrill? The Champion’s companion? How does an Eluvian become corrupted by the Blight, exactly? Are they made of lyrium?!”

Petri cursed briefly, and spun to his scrolls, searching for the ones with information about Eluvians. “I need to speak to Dagna,” he mumbled.

Minaeve nodded, “Yes! That Merrill. And maybe they are… Merrill’s one of Fen’Harel’s most trusted agents. Though I heard she was asking questions that bothered a few people…” her words trailed off. “The questions made sense to me, but I knew better than to draw attention to myself.”

“I’ll write to Varric, then, but I want to see these ruins, all the same,” Asta determined. “We’re only a day away, if that. I might as well take advantage of the proximity. Besides,” she winked, “I might know someone that can see that you two end up sharing a tent. Minaeve, are you at the inn?”

The woman blushed, “…with three roommates.”

“I have my own room here,“ Petri admitted with a smirk to the woman at his side. She narrowed her eyes rather menacingly.

“Then why are you in here, crushing valuable scrolls and threatening helpless books?!” Asta mock scolded. “I’ll let you know who else is coming along. Hopefully we can manage to pull things together in a couple of weeks. Petri, I definitely want you for translations, and Minaeve, if we find the remains of a Dalish clan…”

“I understand,” Minaeve swallowed. “It might be nice to know what happened, I suppose. If it was them. There weren‘t that many Dalish clans in Ferelden before the Blight.”

“Then by all means, continue what you were doing,” Asta grabbed the book off the shelf and waved them onward. “Or better yet, take it upstairs.”

***

Asta pouted at Cullen that night. “What is it?” he sighed, tired after a day of newly weaned puppy training. He flopped himself on their bed, making the down feathers puff up.

“I walked in on Petri and Minaeve,” Asta admitted.

“Well, that took long enough,” Cullen shrugged. “What’s the problem then? You should be gloating.”

“You’ve never made love to me in the library,” Asta frowned, offended. “Not at Skyhold, not here. Cullen… we’ve spent half of our relationship surrounded by books and you’ve never, ever made love to me in a library, or an archive, or even that small study in Skyhold’s lower level… the closest we‘ve come is your desk or mine! The proximity of two bookshelves does not a library make!”

“Right,” Cullen chuckled. “You walked in on them in the library. Of course. Petri couldn’t wait and take it upstairs? Should we have a cot set up down there for sexually frustrated archivists?” He paused. “Don’t answer that. I’m afraid of the answer.”

“That’s not the point,” Asta sulked. “Romance, Cullen. You didn’t even kiss me in the private room in Minrathous. Where the door locked, and we were alone for…”

“We spent weeks in Minrathous fighting, Asta,” Cullen reminded her.

“Again, not the point,” Asta pressed. “Cullen…”

Cullen sighed, “Asta, we finally have a house that is _ours_ , even if the Inquisition is using it, for the time being, with a bedroom, secure and safe, with lots of lovely soundproofing courtesy of Dagna, and a bed, soft and comfortable, and you want to take a trip downstairs and make love in the library?”

“Well, yes, rather,” Asta huffed.

“Fine,” Cullen flung himself back out of the bed, flipping the covers back off his feet, and stretched out his hand. “Let’s go.”

“What, just like that?” Asta stared at his hand.

“Seize the moment, Inquisitor,” Cullen advised, wriggling his fingers. “The clock is ticking.”

Asta weighed him for a moment. “You’re already undressed.”

“It’s our house,” Cullen argued. “They’re guests. If anyone is up late and finds us naked they should be embarrassed, not us.”

Asta laughed, “Is that so? So if Pippa just happens to wander around looking for something to read, you aren’t going to blush down to your cock with embarrassment?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “It won’t happen,” he argued. “The library isn’t a thoroughfare, love. You have to go out of your way to get to it at all. And Pippa has her own bookshelf.”

Asta puffed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Fine.” She grabbed his hand and let him pull her up. “Let me get my robe.”

“You’re acting like this wasn’t your idea,” Cullen criticized, as they peered down the stairwell, Asta struggling into the garment pointedly and holding it closed at her throat.

“Your execution leaves something to be desired,” Asta pointed out. “’Let’s go’ isn’t exactly the sort of thing that makes the heart beat faster, Cullen.”

“Right…” Cullen smirked, spun, and pressed her up against the wall in the main hall instead. “Is this?”

“Cullen,” despite everything she was a little breathless.

“Yes, love?” He smirked slightly.

“You’re naked. As lovely as the view is, could we at least get through the main hall before you press me up against handy walls?”

“Again, it’s our house,” Cullen argued, but quieter, his voice lower to keep from carrying. “If I want to press my wife up against every wall in the place, its none of the Inquisition’s business.”

“It’s hardly being a good host, though,” Asta was giggling now, “To tell your guests to mind their own business and ignore the lord and master pressed bare-arsed against his lady in the front hall.”

Cullen bowed his head into her shoulder and chuckled. “Fine. To the library then. I’ll never get used to the places you take me, Asta.”

“I’m not the one who isn’t wearing anything,” Asta smiled sweetly. “You could have grabbed your pants. And I have the library key. Because I stopped to grab my robe. Shall we?” Cullen lifted one arm away and waved her before him. “Thank you, Ser Knight,” she swatted his ass. “I do like the view, though. Perhaps we should have your portrait painted? Or a sculpture, perhaps? We could display it in the dining room, or perhaps here, in the front hall?”

“Shame you’re the only one who gets one,” Cullen grumbled. “And no. I refuse to pose for anything of the sort.”

“Some of us enjoy modesty in public,” Asta pointed out primly. “But a nude portrait is completely different. That’s art. Think of the Pools of the Sun in Emprise du Lion - how many statues did whatsherface have commissioned of her lover?”

“Must be some Orlesian thing, this strange idea of ‘art‘,” Cullen smirked. “No Ferelden would ever dream of such a thing, I’m certain.”

“Well, I did have a Sister in the Ostwick Chantry try to convince me that Fereldans didn’t wear smallclothes,” Asta teased. “Such… barbarians,” she purred.

The library reached, Asta unlocked it, and Cullen promptly shut the door with his foot and latched the door. “Barbarian, is it?” He approached her, tensing his muscles deliberately so that they defined.

“Complete barbarians, obsessed with dogs, and never acknowledging the need for smallclothes,” Asta agreed, giggling. “She was Antivan, I believe. I knew instantly I’d like the country.” Cullen pressed her up against a floor to ceiling bookshelf ladder and bracketed her with his arms. “Can you imagine my disappointment when two years later I came to Denerim with Sister Dorcas and everyone was fully clothed? Not so much as a bare chest to be seen! Not even one of those kilts like Calenhad was always wearing!” She pouted, “In his portraits, he was always wearing them.”

“Heartbroken, were you?”

“Devastated,” Asta admitted. “Of course, then I met Brother Genitivi and I realized barbarians were overrated…” she squealed as Cullen bit her neck. “Scholars were the way to go. All intellectual, and…” Cullen pushed aside her robe and cupped her breast, and kissed roughly up to her ear, leaving pink marks that threatened to darken. “And infinitely more possibilities for moments like… this. In a library.” More than a little breathy, she arched into his hand. “Oh, that’s…”

“Oh, so I’m fulfilling some long held fantasy you had about Brother Genitivi?” Cullen pulled back and looked away. “Love, I don‘t want to make love to you while…”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Asta giggled. “Cullen,” she turned his face to hers. “Its just you and me in here. In our house. In _our_ library.” She breathed the last three words as if they were filthy.

“Your library,” Cullen muttered, staring at her mouth intently. “I designed it for you. Branson built it for you. Yours.”

“Mine,” Asta corrected with a growing smile.

“Yours,” Cullen pressed in with a kiss, sweeping in and pinning her back against the ladder, his arms propped on either side again.

She abandoned holding her robe closed to embrace his neck. “Perhaps not on the ladder? It rolls,” she laughed, clinging as it did just that as he shifted his weight. “Some dwarf contraption that Dagna described, I gather.”

“Only if you take that damn thing off,” Cullen growled openly, and bit her neck again. “If you ask a barbarian to make love to you in a library, then you ought to face the consequences.”

“Table or floor?” Asta suggested alternatives, her breath hitching as he slid his hands behind her ass and picked her up entirely.

Cullen sighed, bowing his head to her shoulder, and moved her to the study table, shoving the scrolls out of the way after setting her down. “Better?”

“Much,” Asta stripped her arm out of the robe, and Cullen latched onto a breast immediately, sliding his hand into her hair and tilting her head back. “Shit, I didn’t plan…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Cullen growled, and slid her down to the end of the table. “Just tell me not to touch, if you don’t want…” she reached up and pulled him down to her mouth and he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

They were surrounded by millions of words, thousands of runes, hundreds of books, scrolls and tomes, and not a single word was necessary, as she gasped as he covered her fully. He mouthed her neck and bit her collarbone, a subtle scrape of his teeth this time, dropping his hand and circling her, almost without touching her at all. He thrust his hip in her direction with a light growl, and she laughed, grinding against it, and he echoed her, low, closing his eyes against the friction of her leg. He climbed up with her at last, and Asta giggled in delight as the table creaked slightly.

“Stay still,” he warned, and dipped down to gather her leg up and kiss her beneath. This time, at least, she reacted, with a stifled gasp and moan arching into his touch like she used to. “Still, I said,” he swatted her very lightly.

“Mmm, make me,” Asta snickered.

“If I must,” Cullen breathed against her, winking up at her, enjoying himself despite everything. He slid his tongue flat upwards, and made her groan with disappointment when he stopped just before reaching her nerves, swirling the muscle around her center gently and dipping inside.

“Fuck,” Asta muttered.

“Working on it,” Cullen laughed against her thigh. “Not yet, I think.” He slid a finger inside, feeling her clench at him. “I want you dripping. Needs a little. More. Work.” He nibbled at her nerves briefly and she shuddered.

“Cullen…” Asta warned.

“Not yet,” Cullen insisted, and started sliding the finger gently, refusing to bend even slightly, enjoying her struggle to stay still and still make him reach where he needed to. “I don’t think I’m going to let you come without me tonight.” He flicked his tongue at her once, taunting deliberately. “I’m trying to be a barbarian, here. I bet barbarians have rules about these things.”

“You are a bastard,” Asta laughed freely.

“You would insist on the library,” Cullen pointed out, the picture of logic with his mouth against her, working her between words. “Called my people - and your son by virtue of his father - barbarians. I think I’m entitled to a little compensation for the insult?” He suckled gently, and then harder, finally crooking his finger and pressing.

“Cullen,” Asta whined, her legs shaking.

“All right,” he allowed, and let her go, to wrap her legs around him immediately. “Patience is a virtue, Inquisitor. One you evidently don‘t possess. Who is the uncultured one here?”

“Never claimed to have any,” Asta frowned, and rubbed herself, slick with moisture, against him deliberately. “Mmm, that’s…”

“No,” Cullen stopped her, shaking a bit. “Maker, Asta. Give me a moment…” he aligned himself, and hesitated, “Are you…”

Asta drew her legs in, and grabbed his thigh. “Now.” Cullen cursed, and bent over, following her lead now, and slowly sucked marks into her shoulder as he let her move against him rather than move himself. She huffed with frustration, her movements limited by his weight. “Cullen!”

“You seemed to have things in hand,” he chuckled.

“You… arse!” Asta flopped back, giving up what measure of control she had. “You’re enjoying this!”

“Immeasurably,” Cullen smirked. “Are you going to let me make you happy now? I think I‘m better at it then you are. Am I wrong?”

Asta pouted. “Fine.” Cullen captured her mouth instead, sucking in the lower lip pointedly. Asta clung to the back of his head, burying her hand in his curls, now longer than she had ever seen them before, as Cullen bent to his work.

She had to admit that he knew better how to work his body to have her gasping and moaning and arching herself into him. His movements let her reach him halfway, made her arches into his hands and mouth mean more, feel better, until they threatened to overpower her.

He could hear her heartbeat, pounding as he pushed his ear against her pulse, kissing her neck, her chin, her lips, pushed beyond planning into passion, and welcoming her joining him every step of the way. She was crying out with every thrust now, a not-so-silent plea.

Together they rocked the table, scraped it across the flagstones of the floor, made it groan with their shifting weight.

Ink spilled as an improperly corked well tipped sideways, puddling on the floor, its acid scent ignored. Cullen propped himself up on one hand, pressing into her deliberately, eyes focused on her as she writhed beneath him, breath catching. “Oh, Cullen,” she panted, all other words lost.

And then she was lost, the world flashing white as she clenched him to her with a demanding moan. And he followed her, pulsing urgently, losing himself in her instead, rocking slowly with the table echoing the groans from his lips. Finished, he was silent, as Asta laughed.

“I miss your desk,” she giggled. “But this will do.” Her eyes opened. “Did we spill the ink?”

“Ugh.” Cullen answered, not moving, and shuddering slightly.

“Cullen,” Asta tried to get up, and gave up, most of his weight still on her. Instead, she twisted her fingers in his hair, in the way that drove him mad. Huffing, he shifted sideways, eyes still closed. “Cullen, we’re going to have to make our way back to our own room.”

“No,” Cullen refused. “They’re all our rooms. This door locks. I’m not moving.” His mouth twisted up at the corner. Asta pecked it gently, loving the lines it made.

“What’s the point of having a bedroom if we sleep in the library?”

“Exactly what I told Branson before he insisted on making them separate rooms, claiming that no one had a bed in a library, and that neither of us would prefer people marching through our private chambers looking for something to read,” Cullen sighed, and gathered her closer. “Was that everything you dreamed up so long ago? Barbarian and all?” He looked rather vulnerable now, his forehead furrowed. “Or were you looking for something… rougher?” He traced the marks his mouth had left. “I… some of these are going to last a while. I was pretty rough.”

“You, love, are no barbarian,” Asta assured him, “But you can bite me anytime.”  She cuddled into him.  "I don't care who sees the marks.  They're just jealous."

“Good,” Cullen murmured, and shifted her to fit her on top of him. “Next time, you’re on top, though. I want to see you ride me in here.”

“So there will be a next time?” Asta giggled.

“I have no doubt of it,” Cullen chuckled, and pulled her down to kiss him. “It is your library. What you want to do in here is your business.” He whispered against her mouth, “There’s a reason the door locks. And it’s not the damned Elvhen scrolls.”

 


	63. An Unexpected Visitor

Sister Dorcas found Asta perched upon the roof of the as yet still unfinished raven house two days later, accompanied by a traumatized Josie. “Asta, sweetheart, you must come down! There‘s an emergency!”

“Why? What’s happened?!” Asta immediately shimmied down the ladder, “Has something happened to Ian or Pippa? Is it a bear? Should I get Fact?”

“The _King_ ,” Sister Dorcas hissed, the Ambassador too busy wringing her hands to explain. “King Alistair is here. In the parlor. Sitting on the couch, and eating shortbread and cheese.” Her face was pale. “My cousins, either of them, aren’t with him, thank the Maker. His entourage is small and mostly guards… but where is your husband?! We can‘t find Ser Cullen anywhere!”

“How should I know? Check the kennels? Is anyone with him?” Asta brushed the splinters and sawdust off her clothes. “Josie, I literally have nothing to wear… what should I do?”

Josie was still staring blankly, but shook herself back into focus. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor, but I don’t believe there is time for you to change in any case. The King was… rather insistent that he needed to speak to you as soon as could be managed…”

Asta quickened her steps. “Is this about our request for an audience? But why would he come here, instead of telling us to come to him? This isn‘t how things are done!”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” the Ambassador was nearly crying. “Inquisitor, if somehow I’ve failed to represent…”

“Nonsense, Josie,” Sister Dorcas was breathing easier now. “His Majesty… well, sometimes he gets wild hairs, forgets to follow the established rules… he wasn‘t raised to his station, after all. The Queen would subtly guide him in appropriate directions, but she was fond of saying that His Majesty is more effective when he acts on his own, damning the consequences and springing traps that would catch the rest of his party. She claimed… she claimed it made him approachable. I would say this is one of those times that he has chosen to act… independently. You are not at fault here.”

The Ambassador whimpered feebly. “But…”

“Relax, Josie,” Asta composed herself outside the door. “Find Cullen and send him in, unless he‘s covered in dung, or something. Sister Dorcas, will you accompany me, please?”

“Gladly,” the woman nearly whispered. “Oh, Asta, Eamon must be livid… Teagan is probably having a fit… His Majesty keeps doing things like…”

Asta frowned, “It sounds as if they hold too much power over His Majesty.”

The sister stared at her, her eyes worried. “They are the only family he has ever known. Our King is a bastard, Asta. The tribunal that established his parenthood was inconclusive. Hardly surprising if he clings to the people that he believes would never betray him.” She pressed her lips together. “However misguided that may be. With our Queen absent, he feels all the weight of his crown.”

Asta humphed, but took a deep breath, and pasting a smile on her face, entered the room. “Your Majesty,” she bowed deeply, all too aware of her disheveled attire. “It is an honor to meet you again. To what do we owe the pleasure? I apologize for my appearance. I was doing some necessary repairs on a roof.”

“Inquisitor,” Alistair puffed irritably, his eyes focused beyond her, unsure and suspicious. “Dorcas?” He blinked. “I didn’t realize you knew each other… Did Eamon or Teagan send you… because… because I’m not going to fall into line on this! This is my decision to make. It has nothing to do with the future of Ferelden.”

“I am here because the Inquisitor is the closest thing I will ever have to a daughter, Your Majesty,” Dorcas curtseyed as well. “She was my apprentice, long ago, before the Blight. And I assure you, if you don‘t want Eamon or Teagan to know about my presence here, I‘ll never be the one to tell them.” Her eyes twinkled. “I don’t want them thinking my loyalties are divided. I‘m more effective when people think I have no loyalties at all beyond the Chantry and my own work.”

“Oh,” Alistair blinked, frowning, “Oh, yes, I do believe I remember Teagan saying something to that effect a while back. About the Inquisitor and you, I mean. He wanted to have you watched. I told him no. Apparently I was wrong. Not surprising.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you for the cheese, by the way, Inquisitor. The shortbread was divine, but I haven’t had this particular variety of Camembert since just after the Blight,” he finished weakly. “When last we traveled through South Reach. Elissa and I, I mean.” He stared at his lap. “Which is why I am here.”

“I fail to follow, Your Majesty,” Asta stammered. “Are you here for… for the cheese?”

“It’s been more than five years,” Alistair whispered. “Five years, with only a handful of letters, never saying exactly where she was… I know hardly anything…”

The parlor door opened, and Cullen came in, followed by Cole, looking rather agitated.

“You’re so scared,” Cole whispered. “Wouldn’t I know if she was dead? Have to find her, lost in the Roads. This is just like that time she followed Morrigan… missing for months before she came home.” He frowned. “It’s not like you can talk, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, not again,” Alistair rolled his eyes. “Look, Cole, I appreciate your attempts at… compassion, really, I do… Maker‘s Breath, that bard isn‘t here, too, is she? If I hear that miserable song about the Grey Wardens one more time…”

“Then let me help!” Cole begged. “I can find her, you know. I‘m good at finding people.”

“Exactly my point!” Alistair’s face lit up, and Asta exchanged an even more confused glance with Cullen, who shrugged helplessly as the King focused first on Cole, and then on her. “I want you to find her. That’s the cost of me allowing the rebel mages still aligned with the Inquisition to settle on Ferelden soil with a full pardon for past crimes. I want you to find Elissa and bring her back.” He cleared his throat. “Maker’s Breath, I’m terrible at this. I haven’t even said ’please’.” He took a deep breath, “I had other options. Have other options, really. Eamon wanted to send soldiers to escort you out of South Reach, even though Arl Bryland claims the Inquisition is not… active… here. Teagan wanted to come personally and argue about concessions and the past until we all died of old age - but after the mess he made of the Exalted Council, I decided I’d better come myself…” He paused, one eye twitching, and his mouth pouting guiltily. “So I ran away. With a guard, naturally. I can be taught. Apparently a King can run away only once to hang out with a pirate and rogue before his guard dogs are told never to let him out of their sight.” He poked at the cheese crumbs on his small plate idly. “Obviously, my priorities were skewed. I should have saved the escape attempt.”

Asta watched his finger, her mouth hanging slightly open. “You want - us - to find your Queen.”

“I’ll give you anything you need,” Alistair leaned forward hopefully. “Maps to the Deep Roads, disclose Warden secrets - I don‘t know all of them, I‘ve been out of the loop for more than a decade, and Elissa wouldn‘t tell me everything, even if she wanted to - she gets pretty damn protective of me - but I know plenty. Leliana has agreed to share her last known locations - she‘s been keeping a tab on her all along. I won’t let you read her letters - those are too personal - but… You’ll need all the rest of it, since that’s where…” he cleared his throat, flushing dark red. “I’m assuming you’ve heard of the Calling, since Corypheus was sending a false one.” His eyes squinted suspiciously, “You might know more Warden secrets than I do, from what I heard about Adamant.”

“Deep beneath, but not far,” Cole muttered, rocking slightly, his eyes unfocused. “She follows the song, hoping it will lead her back to the beginning instead of to the end. It’s happened once, it can happen again. I regret nothing. Weisshaupt can’t know, can’t find out… Of all the warped things in this world he‘s the only pure one left. I never left you behind, Cheesy, you‘re with me, always. You‘re just not here. Maker, I wish you were here.” Cole smiled at the King, “Leliana told her about Kieran. It made her happy, that for once she made the right choice. That she gave someone life instead of taking it from them.” He frowned, “But you think you didn’t.” He tilted his head, confused. “How can it be the right choice for one of you and wrong for the other? You‘re more like one person than two. Both of you think that.”

Alistair flushed even deeper, his freckles disappearing into color, and ignored the man’s question, “It’s an incredibly selfish request, I know, Inquisitor. But at this point… at this point I don’t care if the taint takes both of us. I just can’t do - this - without her for a second longer.” He looked nearly at the point of tears. “I never wanted any of this, Dorcas. If wanting her back makes me a bad King, I don‘t care.”

Dorcas sighed, and went to sit next to him. “Your Majesty,” she hesitated, and then patted his shoulder. “You are a remarkable King. Better than your father, or Cailan after him. For the record, Eamon and Teagan are often asses. I’m family. I’m allowed to say so. And we all miss Her Majesty.”

“But you think it’s a mistake,” Alistair looked shrewd. “Don’t fool with me, Dorcas. Teagan says you never miss an angle.”

Asta snorted, and her mentor eyeballed her before sighing. “I think it’s… a minor miscalculation. Her Majesty can take care of herself, after all. But I know that Eamon’s been trying to convince you she’s dead for years. As if you’d marry or find a mistress the second you heard your wife was dead. He doesn’t know you at all, if he thinks that for a minute.”

Alistair cheered up slightly. “And here I thought I was the only man in Ferelden who actually meant his wedding vows. Isolde actually offered to discreetly find…”

Dorcas let out a muffled stream of curses at the name, interrupting him completely.

Cullen stifled a chuckle, even as he blushed slightly, and Asta her giggle as the King blinked swiftly, smiling. “Oh, you and Elissa would get along famously! That’s almost precisely what she said the last time Eamon brought his wife to dinner. Why don‘t we ever have you over? You‘d be a breath of fresh air. So much better than various Ambassadors and dignitaries.”

Asta marveled at the King still spoke about his wife as if he had seen her the day before. It was endearing and heartbreaking at the same time. “Your Majesty, I would be happy to launch an expedition to find your Queen. How long do we have to plan before Teagan sends an emissary to track you down?”

Alistair’s mouth twitched. “Two days, perhaps? I… may have sent him a note. To tell him where I was headed, and that I was definitely still alive, and not to do anything foolish like declare me dead publicly or announce that I was a traitor to my own crown.”

Dorcas snorted. “He does persist in thinking you are still 10 years old and covered in mud, doesn’t he?” She paused, “Inquisitor, who is Kieran?” Her eyes narrowed at Cole.

Asta opened her mouth and closed it again. “I’m beginning I don’t think I don’t know the answer to that either, Sister Dorcas. What I do know is that Kieran is Morrigan‘s son.”

Alistair smiled bashfully. “I did tell you that I would tell you all the Warden secrets, didn’t I?” He slumped slightly. “I might as well start with this one. Just… don’t think less of me?” He took a deep breath. “He’s… he’s my son, too.” He flushed. “I’ve never actually said that out loud before. Elissa and I… we talked about it. When we… couldn’t have our own… we knew that Morrigan’s child was still out there, and that’s why Elissa followed her, hoping that we could convince her to let us claim him.” He sighed, and slumped further. “Morrigan… well, we didn’t want Morrigan to give him up. That’s the last thing I wanted to do. I never knew my own mother, and I wanted him to have better…” he sighed. “I’m babbling. Again.”

“May I have a seat?” Asta asked weakly.

“It’s your house,” Alistair looked vaguely miserable now, and started poking at the crumbs of cheese again.

Asta stumbled over to the chairs and settled herself down. “Perhaps begin at the beginning?”

Alistair laughed. “That would take far too long. The short version is… Morrigan performed a ritual before we fought the archdemon. Kieran was the result of that ritual. His conception guaranteed the survival of both Grey Wardens in the final battle. Otherwise, one of us would have died… the one who killed the archdemon. Instead… Kieran absorbed the old god soul that would have killed Elissa and…” his voice broke. “And Morrigan left.”

Cullen growled, “Blood magic.”

“Yes, well, they don’t call us ‘Grey’ Wardens for our pure and lawful alignments,” Alistair quipped, shutting his eyes to hide the tortured look. “For that you join the Chantry. I was rubbish at being a Templar. Ask anyone at Bournshire. Wardens do what must be done. And yes, while it was partially selfish, it also guaranteed that Ferelden’s two remaining Wardens stayed alive to fight darkspawn another day! One to take the helm of Warden Commander and the other to take the throne!” He opened them again, now angry and flashing. “And we do not have to defend our choices to you, Ser! We did what we had to!”

Cullen and Alistair’s silent battle of wills forced the tension in the room still higher. Dorcas still sat next to the King, her eyes calculating, as if mapping out a chess game in her head.

“So Kieran is the heir to the throne of Ferelden?” Asta whispered, mind whirring. “That would explain Morrigan’s insistence on his education in the Orlesian court…” her eyes flashed up to Alistair. “But Your Majesty… he’s a mage!”

“And so is your niece,” Alistair countered immediately, spine straightening. “My contacts are excellent, Inquisitor. Don’t push me.”

“Daughter,” Asta corrected, head still spinning. She bit her lip.

“Whatever,” Alistair slumped again. “Strictly speaking, I don’t really care. I just want my wife back while I still have some time left to enjoy it with her. The Landsmeet will decide my successor, as they did for Cailan. Right now, the most likely candidates are either Teagan, who is beginning to insist he‘s too old, Eamon, who is even older and even more mired in the way things used to be, Connor, who would be a loyalist mage, that’s just like him - or…” his voice broke again, “Or my son, who no one knows about. I’ve never even _met_ him.”

Cullen’s belligerent attitude dropped with his shoulders, sympathy suddenly transparent on his all too expressive face.

Dorcas whispered, “Or they could throw their support behind Anora, again.”

“I’m informed that is… unlikely,” but Alistair’s voice shook, “I wouldn’t mind, honestly, but Elissa… holds grudges. Rather well. It’s one of her best qualities. She holds the grudges I won’t.” He mused, “I don’t think she’s ever forgiven my half sister. Or Arl Howe, though he’s been dead all this time. She still complains about the time her brother oiled the courtyard in front of the training dummies.  She sprained her wrist.” He smiled fondly at her memory. “If I had any power over it, I would spare Kieran the throne, as a gift from one bastard to another.” He leaned in towards Asta, as if imparting a great secret, “I actually hate this crown. I know it seemed the best idea at the time, but… Maker, if Elissa had known… she would never have done this to me. She’s told me so.”

“And you believe her?” Dorcas lifted her eyes back to Alistair, wide and in shock.

“My wife has always told me the truth,” Alistair informed her coldly. “We both have our regrets. My wife told me that if she had known, she would have put Anora on the throne and we could have lived out our days as Wardens. Together until we entered the Deep Roads.” His voice wavered.

“Time magic doesn’t work, Your Majesty,” Asta whispered.

“So I am informed,” sighed Alistair. “Will you find her?”

“I will try,” Asta agreed. “Cole… is there anyone that you think would help?”

“Fiona,” Cole said immediately. “She should be here. I’ll fetch her. Right now.” He squinted through his hair at the King. “He needs her.” And then he frowned slightly. “But it’s going to get loud before it gets better.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Certain events in this chapter refer back to events in the BioWare book 'The Calling', as well as the comic series that include 'He Who Sleeps' and 'The Silent Grove.'
> 
> If you haven't read them, you should. In the latter, King Alistair actually escapes from Denerim and goes looking for his long lost father. With Varric and Isabela and Maevuris Tilani. It's great fun.
> 
> I also refer slightly to events in my other story, "Lights in the Shadow" in which Sister Dorcas and Isolde have an extensive correspondence about events during the Blight. I've... tweaked canon slightly, since according to World of Thedas volume 2, Eamon never told Isolde who Alistair's father was. But I think its safe to assume that he did tell her about at least Maric, and possibly about Fiona, once Alistair was in the Chantry at Bournshire. The letter the book quotes is from before he leaves Redcliffe, and in it, Isolde states that she has lived in Redcliffe all her life (she was an Orlesian noble during the occupation) and has no idea of who Eamon is talking about when he refers to Goldanna's mother. It's one of the reasons she is suspicious that Eamon was Alistair's father.


	64. Overdue Conversations

They reconvened in the dining room, as the largest table in the house and one of the few rooms that could hold everyone plus their illustrious guest, and Cullen rolled out a large map. Asta sighed in a potent mixture of nostalgia and grief, and Cullen squeezed her shoulder. It was like, and yet unlike, the War Room.

Alistair had come well equipped. “I may have stopped by Vigil’s Keep to retrieve a few things,” he winked, opening a large satchel and spreading out the papers on the table. “Oh, that shouldn’t be in there,” he plucked a faintly scented letter out of the pile, flushing and folding it up to tuck inside his clothes. “My letter to her, on the occasion of our first separation, just after our marriage,” he explained. “Right after Weisshaupt made her Warden Commander. It‘s sweet that she kept it this long.” He beamed fondly but briefly, before shaking himself, and holding up two large scrolls, “My wife and her Wardens have thoroughly explored the Deep Roads beneath Ferelden and the Frostbacks. These are the maps.” He lifted a large diary, “My wife’s account of her experiences with the darkspawn known as the Architect.”

Fiona hissed, and both Alistair and Asta spun to face her. “Fiona?” Asta prompted.

“I… I am familiar with that… person,” the elf murmured, very pale. “I was unaware…”

“As was I,” Asta agreed, eyes narrowed. “How many darkspawn magisters have the Wardens encountered, Your Majesty?”

Alistair chuckled, but bitterly, “That, I do not know. But from Varric’s books, I would imagine that they knew all about the Conductor, at least? Wasn’t he locked up tighter than a nug’s arse before the Champion…” his words trailed off. “I was the only Warden who realized she had recorded the experience. Given the level of… oversight in Vigil‘s Keep from Weisshaupt, she swore me to secrecy, and left the book with me.” He fidgeted. “Sorry, it’s a little harder than I thought it would be to just… confess everything.” He raised his eyes to Fiona thoughtfully. “I believe you were a Warden once, Grand Enchanter?”

“I have always felt the same,” the mage admitted, staring back as if pinned down. “I was bound by oaths before they released me… I… always felt I owed them, something. They freed me from the Tower, the first time.” She opened her mouth as if to say more, and then frowned. “Even now it is difficult.”

Asta mused gently about something Fiona had told her - way back before Adamant. “Fiona… didn’t you say that you used to know King Maric?”

Sister Dorcas tensed next to Asta, and the mage averted her eyes. “Yes… Yes I did. A long time ago,” she qualified, flushing, “Though… not for long. I knew his friend Duncan better. He was a dear friend to both of us,” she admitted, very softly.

Alistair’s head perked up. “You knew Duncan - _and_ my father… why didn’t you ever…”

Fiona folded her lips together. “Should I have said something before or after you banished the rebel mages from Ferelden, Your Majesty? You would have interpreted it as nothing more than an attempt to curry favor. You tried to do us one favor, out of the goodness of your heart, and look what we did - I did -with that!”

Alistair narrowed his eyes. “Most people attempt to curry favor with me. That you didn’t…” he stopped talking. “I want to discuss this later. But privately.”

“As Your Majesty wishes,” Fiona whispered, ears drooping and mouth turned down.

Asta changed the subject, “As a Warden, however temporarily, you must have spent some time in the Deep Roads. Especially if you‘ve met this… Architect.”

Fiona choked. “You might say that. Though you have spent longer than I, by far. And you are no Warden.”

Alistair tilted his head slightly, frowning, as if he had never seen the woman before. “Where? Show me.”

Fiona’s hand lifted, hovering over the map. “Here,” she traced a shaky line, deviating from it in several places, the ghostly branch of a tree across Southern Ferelden. “The King… the King was our guide. We were searching for a Warden… one lost in the Deep Roads. My Commander’s brother. The King had passed that way, during the War. He and Loghain were the only ones with even a little knowledge of that route. So Maric - His Majesty,” she corrected just as her voice dropped with amusement, “ran away, Your Majesty. Left his throne and your young half-brother, with Loghain in charge and came away with us.” She frowned then, “He claimed… he claimed that he had been told there would be a Blight, and that he had to do everything he could to spare Ferelden.”

Cullen snorted, “Like father like son?”

Alistair cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I don’t actually _intend_ to follow you into the Deep Roads to reclaim my wife. Just to assist you. But if I did, at least I wouldn‘t be leaving a child with a…” He grasped several iron markers in his hands, and shaking, lined them up with the map. “These are the locations that Leliana says Elissa reported from.”

“The Inquisition had a letter from her from here,” Cullen aligned another marker decisively.

“Fiona…” Asta murmured. “This… Architect, could he make Wardens hear the Calling?”

Fiona gasped, as if in pain. “Yes. And he… he could move the taint quicker, through their bodies. I and my… associates, we suffered greatly while we were in the Deep Roads.”

Asta weighed her carefully, eyes cold. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” she whispered. “He was working with the former First Enchanter, before Wenselus, before Irving, at Kinloch Hold. We were captured, and brought there, when we came out of the Deep Roads around…” her finger found the northwest, just beyond Lake Calenhad, “Here. He escaped while we struggled to fight them off. Loghain‘s soldiers saved our lives.” Her finger was slightly past where the Warden had been last seen.

Alistair snorted, “I find that unlikely. Loghain doesn‘t rescue Wardens. He sets them up for failure and betrays them.”

“Your Majesty,” Asta’s voice was crisp and assured. “Tell me, did your wife kill the Architect?!”

“She thought she did,” Alistair was pale and sarcastic. “But Corypheus… he could transfer his awareness into any blighted creature. Or so my spies and poor choices in reading material told me. I have no reason to doubt them. Do all darkspawn magisters have that ability?”

“Exactly,” Asta released a shuddering breath. “Did he have a dragon? An archdemon type of dragon? A piece of himself lodged in it, as a backup plan, in case he should die?”

Alistair paled even further, the remnants of his freckles standing out stark against his skin. “Maker’s Breath, I hope not. I’ve watched Elissa kill enough dragons for one lifetime, thank-you-very-much.” He blew out a single breath, “The adrenaline rush and sex afterward are hardly worth it.” He paused, “Well, perhaps the sex.” He flushed, as if only just realizing what he had said aloud. “Forget I said that.”

“Hey, no judgment here, big guy,” Bull winked at the King.

Cullen coughed his way through his embarrassment, but Asta let out a little sympathetic snigger before recovering herself and straightening up. “Cullen, Bull, Josie, I would like to formally request permission to share classified information with the King of Ferelden.”

“Go ahead,” Bull grunted after Cullen nodded, carefully. Josie sighed, but waved her quill regally in a gesture that she should continue.

“You’ve given away this much, Inquisitor. By all means?”

“We fought a dragon,” Fiona whispered before Asta could start. “Duncan, Maric, and… the rest of us. It was just a little ways away from the Architect’s… lair. It was dark. We couldn‘t see it well. It did not seem… tainted. Duncan killed it.” She stumbled backwards. “Forgive me, I… I think I need to sit down.”

Bull was already there with a chair. “Ma’am, I believe there’s more to the story than what you’re telling.”

And Fiona glanced up at the man, in what was almost a glare. “You have no idea.” She transferred her gaze, softening as she saw Alistair across the table, watching her with an intent, hard look on his face. “Please… I’ll tell you everything. I promise. But first… this story belongs to m- His Majesty. May we have a word alone?”

“We’ll give you some privacy, then,” Asta stated clearly and waved her people out. “Take your time, Your Majesty. Call out if you need us.”

***

The shouts from the room were more than audible, and none of the Inquisition was polite enough to leave the adjoining room entirely to stop themselves from hearing, especially when they realized what, exactly, was being confessed. “What about Goldanna?”

“She was never your sister. Her mother was someone else. I don‘t know who. Eamon thought it best, given who and what I am, to provide you with an alibi…”

“She’s not my sister?” Alistair’s voice was pleading. “And all this time, you were alive…”

“I kept you with me until I left the Grey Wardens,” Fiona was crying. “I wanted… but the Circle would have taken you away. I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave you to be raised by the Chantry! So I found something better… Arl Eamon…”

“Eamon delivered me to the Chantry himself!” A loud bang followed these words, the sound of something being thrown. “You _abandoned me_.”

“I did my best! Eamon promised to care for you as his own, I hardly expected him to marry some young fool…”

“I slept in the kennels! I was the stable boy! I was less than… anyone in his household! A nobody!”

“But he gave you my amulet! I left it for you!”

“Elissa _stole it for me_ ,” Alistair roared. “I’ve been guilt stricken for more than a decade about her taking it off his desk after I threw it away!”

Fiona started laughing, hysterically, sobbing laughs punctuating every sentence, “You are so like Maric. How is that even possible? Is there nothing of me in you? How did you become such a good man?”

“I abandoned my son as well,” Alistair hissed. There was silence. “But apparently I got that from both of you. He never had a chance, did he? Not with grandparents like his.”

“Your father was a good man, Alistair. The best man I’ve ever met. He tried, so hard. I’ve never known anyone who tried so hard. Except perhaps for you… He couldn’t… I couldn’t be his mistress. Not as a mage, and an elf. He asked me to stay, and I, I had to say no.”

“Did you… love him?”

“Perhaps…” came a low confession. “We hardly had the time to figure it out, after all. Our time together was… was like a whirlwind and we were caught up in each other like the eye of a storm. But he loved you. When he saw you for the first time, he held you like you were the most precious treasure he had ever seen. He said you looked like Cailan. We wanted to spare you all of it - and in the end could protect you from nothing. My silence… my silence was only to spare you what I could. You didn‘t need me, a mage, an _elf,_ an Orlesian, a former slave… not when you were the KING, and even before… you had everything you needed. Love, a place in the world, work worth doing…”

“I needed my _mother more_ ,” Alistair choked, and another loud bang followed. “The rest didn’t matter.” His voice was much quieter now. “None of the rest matters. Not to me. Never to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

The words were quieter, and Asta sat frozen, hand between her knees, along with her advisors on the other side of the door.

“Shit,” Bull grunted. “People would pay good money for this crap.” He grinned. “And I’m one of the only fucking people that knows.” Asta glared at him in warning. He lifted his hands in defense, “Hey, I’m not going to do anything with it. Just… it’s kind of awesome to know, am I right?”

“I need a drink,” Josie muttered, and wandered to the wine carafe. “Anyone else?” Everyone raised their hands. She started passing around glasses, the gentle clinking of the crystal an inappropriate accompaniment to the gravity of the situation. “This is a diplomatic nightmare. Inquisitor, my best advice is to stay as far away from this as possible. Get involved, and everyone will be mad at you. Elves, Nobles, Mages, the Chantry, the College, Weisshaupt, most of Orlais…” she frowned and tilted her head, “though it might be an interest to Marquise Briala… but no. We don’t need to tip our hand to the Empress without cause.”

Asta sat back, glass in hand, slumping in her chair. “The King of Ferelden, last of the line of Calenhad but one, is half-elf.” Dorcas took a very long drink, and eyed her glass as if wishing it were something stronger.

“Like our Pippa,” Cullen reminded her with a smile, his eyes glazed with shock.

“And said King has a illegitimate child with _Morrigan_ , with the full knowledge of his wife, and that child _is_ the last of the line of Calenhad. And his mother is a mage. And until recently that child was in possession of an old god‘s soul.” Dorcas drained her glass and held it out again for more. Josie filled it again, silently.

“Apparently so.” Cullen paused for a moment. “You know, my mother’s sister was married to a mage, Wilhelm. He always claimed that he fought at King Maric’s side with his Golem. Just stories, us kids always thought.” He hummed. “I wonder…”

Asta choked, “Cullen…”

“His magic skipped a generation, and we weren‘t related to Wilhelm, only his wife!” Cullen protested. “My cousin Matthias was an only child, and he didn’t have a speck of magic. Uncle Wilhelm was a somewhat pompous man, who never let us play in his basement. Ran an inn in Honnleath, and kept his workshop warded.” He paused, “The Golem was supposed to have killed him.”

“Shit,” Bull looked rather impressed.

“It made rather an impression,” Cullen admitted. “I used to pretend to fight it, taking vengeance on my Uncle. The older ladies used to yell at me for scaring the birds.” He blushed a little at the memory, but no one was paying attention, mostly staring into their wine glasses with dimwitted expressions.

Asta was staring at Dorcas, the most absent-looking of them all. “Sister Dorcas… are you all right?”

“I knew,” she whispered, and drained her glass a second time. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.

Asta leaned in, “Pardon?”

She looked guilty. “Isolde practically told me, during the Blight. She was… extremely upset about Duncan recruiting him into the Wardens. Paid a generous tithe to have him accepted into the Templars as a child, her and Eamon. It was all so suspicious. I looked into it a bit. And then held my tongue.”

“Why didn’t you say…” Asta started.

The Sister glared at her. “Think. We needed a king. Isolde knew, probably more than I did. As did Eamon. His illegitimacy was bad enough.” She closed her eyes. “Isolde is the only one that knows what little I know, and I know… well… I have enough information on her to blackmail her forever.” She tried to look smug, but her face fell. “The truth is I was a coward. I didn’t come forward, because I didn’t want it to destroy our country. In chess, the queen is the key to the game - and we had the sort of queen that countries only dream about, linked to a king that bards would sing of until the end of time - if no one knew the whole story. And once I knew Alistair for the man he was, instead of the child he was before I joined the Chantry…” she sighed. “I thought I had done the right thing. He’s the king we need,” she concluded simply. “No matter his mother, and perhaps because of her. We don‘t even need Elissa any longer - her long absence proves that.”

“His Majesty needs her,” Cullen contradicted, lost in thought.

“That seems to be true,” the Sister conceded.

“Well, we’re going to find her,” Asta sighed, and ran her hand through her hair. “Cole and I will make up part of the party, I suppose.”

“Asta…” Cullen jerked out of his reverie.

She silenced him with a look. “Cole and I. Bull…”

“Didn’t get to go last time,” Bull grunted. “I’m in, if Dorian will stay with Emily. Ma‘am will probably want to stay with the puppies.”

Asta pressed her lips together, trying not to think of her son and daughter. “We need a mage. I‘m not going to fight darkspawn without someone who can throw fire.”

“I will come,” Fiona had slid the door open, her face tear streaked and stained, leaning against the doorframe as if she couldn’t support herself. Alistair stood behind her, both fists still clenched. He had been crying. Most of the map markers were missing from the table, and there were dents in the once-new plaster and wood paneling of the walls. “I can help guide, if Cole cannot…”

Cole whimpered, “You’ve ripped off the bandage too fast. It’s still raw. Thoughts whirling fast like the blood in the water on that day, red, then disappearing. Rage like a dragon, fire too hot to be natural. Where was she? Why do people always leave me?” Cole looked up at Alistair desperately. “Elissa didn’t leave you. You’re still with her. Why don’t you see?!”

“Be quiet,” Alistair managed from between clenched teeth. Cole huddled slightly at the rebuke.

Asta frowned, “I’d feel better with at least one other mage, and perhaps another warrior…”

“We could ask for volunteers from Kirkwall,” Cullen offered, when Rylen didn’t speak up. “I’m sure Cassandra would be happy to…”

“Too far away,” Asta frowned. “No, it will have to do.” Cullen made a discontented noise, but she breathed a little easier, despite the fight she knew was coming in private. “We’ll make our plans accordingly. Is that satisfactory, Your Majesty?”

“It will have to do,” Alistair gritted out an unwitting echo, his eyes lost in his own painful thoughts. “As long as you find Elissa.”

***

Cullen followed her upstairs to change her clothes. “Asta…”

“I know, Cullen, I don’t want to leave him either. Or Pippa, or you…”

“He’s still so young,” he pressed. “What if…”

“I doubt it will be months,” Asta argued. “Weeks, at most. We’re not searching for a Titan, and the Queen is apparently still under Ferelden. You can cross Ferelden on foot in a couple of weeks, if you travel light. Faster in the Deep Roads, if the darkspawn aren‘t bad.”

“But the Deep Roads!” Cullen protested. “You said you’d never go back! You said…”

“I don’t want to go,” Asta held her arm across her body. “You know how I feel about the Deep Roads. But… if I don’t go, the King could make us all leave. Not just the mages. This means… this means your repatriation, Cullen, and Pippa recognized as a citizen of Ferelden, if she wants it… We’ll be truly home, if I go.”

“Then let me go instead, if its all for my benefit,” Cullen argued. “I managed last time…”

“Barely,” Asta reminded him. “No, Cullen, I refuse to let that happen again… the kids need you! Pippa especially!”

“You nearly _died_ down there. And the children need their mother! Especially Ian!”

“I’m not looking for a Titan this time!” Asta slammed her hand down on the bed post. “This isn’t nearly as dangerous!”

“You had two hands then. And weren’t feeding a baby! You‘re practically defenseless with your crossbow!”

“We’ll find a wet-nurse, and… I‘ll get better with practice,” Asta argued, nearly crying. “Cullen, don‘t make this harder…”

“Don’t go,” Cullen begged. “Please. Don’t go. Don‘t leave me here.”

“I have to,” Asta turned away. “I have to. Cullen, you…”

“No! I…,” Cullen spun her back towards him, face tight. “Love. Please.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Asta whispered.

“I’m not keeping you here. But I’m supposed to go with you. Never again,” Cullen reminded her.

“Sorry!” An oddly familiar voice piped up off behind them. “Got lost, looking for the water closet. Lovely home you have here… and I‘m sorry about the dents in the walls. I haven‘t thrown anything like that since… well…” The King of Ferelden, apparently recovered from his earlier fight with his new found mother, stood smugly in their doorway, still open. “I’m strangely nostalgic, listening to you both. An echo of a certain conversation with my own beloved.” He sighed. “And I find myself… suddenly unwilling to return to Denerim, given the situation.”

“Your Majesty,” Asta began.

“It makes sense,” the King mused. “You need another warrior. She is my wife, after all. And you have children to take care of. Plus I’ll have the chance to get to know my own…” he cleared his throat, “Yes, well, that’s personal, isn’t it? Eamon always claims that I‘m terrible about airing my dirty laundry.”

“Josephine will kill me if I let you do anything of the sort! What if you die down there?” Cullen’s exasperated noise was a thing of beauty.

“Ambassadors, am I right?” Alistair waved her down. “But Teagan’s on his way here. Let them do their little dance of diplomacy around each other while we make our escape.” He did look slightly less… lost, with a purpose before him. “Teagan is a terrible dancer, for the record. Lady Montilyet will weave circles around him. And to tell you the truth, I always expected to die in the Deep Roads. Sooner or later, it‘s all the same. That‘s how Wardens go, between Blights.”

Cullen released his wife’s shoulders. “If… if the King goes with you, I’ll…” he huffed. “I still don’t like it, but I trust… him. He must be good. He defeated an Archdemon.”

“Such confidence from a somewhat loyal subject. An Archdemon, other more ‘typical’ dragons, untold Emissaries and Ogres, a broodmother - and trust me you don’t want to know about those, that thing almost turned me off breasts entirely - and uncountable darkspawn, for the record,” corrected the King. “I’m rather good, if I say so myself. And I have my Templar abilities.”

Cullen jerked, “How… you were never initiated, were you? Did you ever take lyrium?”

“No, but I can still use them. You can’t?” Alistair frowned, “I could always… I just assumed the lyrium made them better, or something… I wonder why…” his words trailed off.

“Perhaps you just have unusually high willpower?” Asta suggested. “Incredible focus perhaps?” Her eyes narrowed, “You never came into contact with a spirit of Faith, did you?”

“What?” Alistair startled, “Of course not. We were fighting darkspawn, not demons! Well, except for the Circle Tower…” Cullen folded his arms defensively, “And from your husband’s body language, I’m guessing I shouldn’t babble on about that.”

“I know everything,” Asta assured him. “Or nearly everything.” She raised an eyebrow, “Your Majesty, I believe I will have to ask you to leave our bedroom. Cullen… do we have a place for the King to stay? I’m assuming that Arl Bryland shouldn’t know that he’s here?”

Alistair snorted, “Bryland would just laugh and tease Eamon that I’ve escaped yet again. But yes, I‘d rather not. He’ll give Teagan a hard enough time as it is. And Dorcas has already offered me her room… if that‘s okay?” He seemed strangely hesitant. “I know that hypothetically, any house in the kingdom should be open to me, but that seems incredibly rude. Like I’ve invited myself over.”

“Strictly speaking, you have,” Cullen grunted.

Asta blinked and smiled. “Your Majesty, you are welcome in our home.”

Alistair smiled weakly, “Now, I know you’re just saying that. But when is dinner? And is there a cheese course?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying very hard to maintain faithfulness to both the games, and the book 'The Calling', as well as various other media types here. This particular story arc is... challenging, as I have to read between the lines on a lot of dialogue, objects in the games, and so on.
> 
> So when necessary, I'll be citing my reasons at the end of the chapter for believing what I do, if I feel it isn't absolutely clear.
> 
> This bit is so lore heavy, it should have its own backpack. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> And yes, we will be meeting my Warden. Officially. For the first time. I also might be working on an Origins fic, because... well, something happened while I should have been editing this section and it leapt into my head and computer and stayed there. I just need a title and I'll be posting the first chapter. I have no idea what to call it. So right now it's 'Working Title'. lol


	65. The Top Ten Ways You Know A Blight Is Coming

Teagan showed up the next day, in a temper. His knock on the front door of the house echoed impatiently, and continued until it was opened. He shoved his way in, demanding to see the King.

“I’m not sorry!” Was the first thing out of Alistair’s mouth upon being found in the parlor, chatting amiably with Rhys about Wynne. “I’ve had it with you and your brother shoving and pushing me towards ‘eligible’ ladies. It doesn’t matter if they’re eligible! I’m not! It isn’t the worst thing in the world if I die without an heir! Better than…”

“This isn’t about an heir! This is about YOU taking after your damn fool of a father. You are not going into the Deep Roads!”

“And you can’t stop me!” Alistair argued. “I’ll have you banished to Redcliffe if you try. Unless you’d like to start another Civil War, and try to put yourself on the throne? Forget the war, I’d happily abdicate! You’re welcome to it!”

Teagan slumped, defeated. “Your Majesty…”

“Don’t Your Majesty me! You only call me that when you want something!” Alistair roared. “Talk to me like a person, damn you!”

Asta stifled a laugh. “I should try that,” Cullen murmured into her ear. “Would you stay home if I called you Inquisitor?”

She tightened her arms around Ian, sleeping with his head slumped sideways on her shoulder, despite the noise, the youngest member of the planning party. “I might,” she admitted. “I meant it. I don’t want to leave. Not right now.” She stroked his back gently.

“Then let me go,” Cullen whispered.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to go either,” Asta immediately argued, much louder.

“Why do either of you have to go?” Rylen frowned. “Cullen, you’d be my choice, honestly. The Inquisitor, as much as we hate to admit it, is not in her best form. She’s vulnerable, now that she’s lost her arm. She’s weak after having her baby, and hasn’t trained in…”

“Months. Perhaps even a year,” Josie’s face lightened. “Thank you, Rylen. Oh, it does feel good to hear someone else say it out loud. Inquisitor, you are not only a mother now, but you’re out of practice! To risk you in the Deep Roads now would be the height of foolishness! What would your children do, without their mother?”

“Survive, I expect,” Asta replied dryly, “without their nearly sainted mother dragging them into constant trouble. But as I listen to my advisors, upon occasion,“ Cullen snorted loud enough to draw Teagan and Alistair’s attention away from redrawing their battlelines, “what are my options? Besides beginning training immediately so that I can remedy my ‘weakened’ state? Which I will do in any case?”

Rylen snorted, “You’ve got Bull, Enchanter Fiona, Cole, and the King, if his uncle quits arguing with his neffie-poo long enough to admit that it makes sense for him to go after his own wife.”

“I…” Alistair startled, “I am _not_ his nephew.” A smile grew slowly. “Not even sort of.”

“I’m your uncle,” Teagan countered, looking sad and old and defeated. “In every way that matters, Alistair.”

“No, you aren’t,” Alistair grinned rakishly. “I’ve met my mother. She’s definitely not your sister. Would you like to meet her? And how soon do you think we can announce that Goldanna is full of…”

Teagan closed his eyes, “Alistair,” he began.

“I just realized! If I ‘just happen’ to let it slip that my mother is an Orlesian ex-slave elf mage, the Landsmeet will convene, pull me off the throne and throw me in the gutter - leaving you and Eamon totally discredited…” Alistair started wickedly. “This is my way out! Perhaps I‘ll go to Kirkwall, and take up drinking in taverns until Elissa can come find me and dry me out. Yes, I think that‘s best. I‘m sure the Viscount would point me in the right direction.”

“Alistair!” Teagan protested feebly. “You wouldn’t…”

“I learned a few things from you and Eamon over the years,” Alistair grinned. “I think my lady would approve doing what I wanted to do for once,” his face fell. “Unless the elf thing bothers her.” He frowned. “Maker, I didn’t think of that. I told her my only secret was that I was Maric’s bastard. We’ve never had lies between us, not since before Redcliffe,” he muttered.

“They weren’t your lies,” Teagan argued, and then cleared his throat. “They were Eamon’s.”

“And my mother’s,” Alistair seemed rather fond of the word. “Mother. Mo…ther. It sounds a bit odd. Do you think she’ll mind if I call her that?” He seemed to be addressing Asta. “You know her better than I do.”

Asta worked her mouth helplessly, “I imagine she would love to hear the word, Your Majesty.” She glanced back down at her sleeping son. “I know I would.”

“That’s settled then,” Alistair grinned. “I’m going.”

“And so am I,” Cullen countered immediately.

“Cullen…” Asta whispered.

“I will survive. It’s not going to be nearly as long,” he swallowed. “And Cole will be there. I imagine… I imagine he will help, if I ask. We should keep you around long enough to hear that word.” He smiled at her, trying to slow down his heartbeat.

Asta squeezed his arm, and stopped protesting. “When will you leave?”

***

Three days later, Asta, with Ian in her arms, flanked by a sullen Pippa, stood in front of the house, seeing them off. “I still don’t like this, Cullen.”

“Da, why can’t I go?” Pippa complained.

“You’re too young,” Cullen answered her first. “I’ll be all right, love,” he leaned down and pecked her cheek. “Cole says he’ll help. He says she‘s not far.”

Asta braced Ian on her hip, and reached up to pull him down to her lips, kissing him more deeply. “None of that,” she whispered, “No pecks on the cheek when you’re heading into doom, Ser Knight. Come home soon, and…” she slipped their crystal into his hands. “Dorian and I are taking turns with his. This way, you can talk to us, every time you camp. I swear, I’ll drop everything if I see it. Well, everything except Ian.”

“Oh, does she call you Ser Knight?” Alistair piped up from the back of the party, mostly on horses now. “That’s so sweet! The best I ever got from Elissa was ‘Cheesy’.” He grinned. “Course, it works for us.” His face fell, “Maker, I miss that woman.” He cheered immediately, “Still, it’s nice to be able to do something about that. Finally.” He smirked at Teagan, who was standing, unimpressed, with his arms folded across his chest. “Don’t be a sore loser, Teagan. I won, fair and square.”

Fiona chuckled, and then cleared her throat. “Shall we?”

Bull slapped Dorian on the ass, and the mage kissed him abruptly. “See ya, Kadan. Stay put? Be nice to find you here when I get back.” He kissed Emily’s cheek. “Be good, Sprog. Don‘t make me have to worry about you.”

“Quit calling me that,” the adolescent pouted unconvincingly, a great deal like her father.

Cullen kissed Asta one more time, and pecked Ian on his head, hugged Pippa, lifting her off the ground and made her smile, and moved towards his own horse. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll be back,” Cole chirped, waving at Maryden. He paused, “Probably?”

“Definitely,” the bard declaimed, and blew him a kiss.

***

Fiona led them to a cave at the edge of the Frostbacks, the mountains icy and cold with the white of winter. “There was a cave in, where we exited last time,” she hesitated, “So we’ll have to work towards it, rather than go directly.” She consulted the map carefully, indicating the ruined Circle Tower in Lake Calenhad. “We went there, afterward, and the Architect was already there, and in charge.” She frowned. “He must have had a closer entrance, but his knowledge would have been greater than ours. We were fumbling in the dark, a great deal of the time.”

“It looks like there’s an entrance there,” Alistair was nearly bouncing with excitement now, all trace of the grim sovereign gone as he pointed at his wife‘s map. “Much closer to the tower, and fairly near here. Shall we?”

The miles dropped away with little conversation, but as they drew closer to Lake Calenhad Cole began to mutter, little scraps of words without focus. Cullen recognized some of them as his, but Cole didn’t approach him. He could only count his blessings.

They were standing in front of a cave then, staring into the enveloping darkness, when Cole spoke at last, “The dagger, stolen from the Enchanter. A pretty thing, pretty like the mage who came looking for him later. Stolen kisses, too, winding around each other before they were caught. He liked pretty things, then. Touched them with itchy fingers that both took and gave.” He frowned. “Duncan?”

Fiona closed her eyes, “Duncan.” Alistair swallowed audibly, but remained silent.

“The dagger was special,” Cole mused. “As was Maric’s sword? One bright and clean with Dragonbone and fire, the other dark and cleansing… but the amulets twisted, pushing the poison faster through your veins. ‘Stay away, until they are no longer useful,’ he ordered, controlling and breaking,” Cole shuddered. “I don’t like him. He takes things that should be beautiful and corrupts them, and takes the corrupted and calls it beauty. He‘s everything he shouldn‘t be. Calls it a cure, when its really a curse, drawing everyone into the same nightmare.”

“Is he alive, Cole?” Cullen asked helplessly, trying not to think about descending into the darkness.

“Not the way you mean,” Cole answered, confused.

“Can we kill him?” Bull grunted.

“Yes,” the man answered simply. “If you recognize him.”

“Does he have a dragon?” Cullen pushed.

“I don’t think so,” Cole hummed randomly. “She is here, hero and wife.” He shook, but not with cold. “She’s hurting, in the dark alone. ‘Someone help me!’ We need to hurry!”

“If that’s all we’ve got, then,” Bull straightened with a grunt. “Cold hurts my bones. Least we’ll be out of the wind, in there.” He squinted. “Fiona, Ma’am, you think you can light things up a bit? I like to see where I’m going, you know? None of this ‘into darkness unafraid’ bullshit if I don‘t have to be badass.”

Fiona smirked, looking more like her son than she ever had before, and stepped forward into the mouth of the cave. “That I can do.” The light from her staff was blinding. Cullen immediately felt better. “You’ve all fought darkspawn before, correct?”

“Don’t lecture me on darkspawn, Mother, I‘m married to the Hero of the Fifth Blight,” Fiona started at the name, and his face fell. “I‘m sorry, I mean…should I have asked?”

“It’s fine,” she choked, tearing up. “I just never thought…” she smiled, not quite meeting his eyes, a watery pull of narrow lips.

“Actually, I never have,” Cullen pushed to cover up their embarrassment. “In my last trip, I made my way through the Deep Roads following the path of the Legion. They… were remarkably thorough.”

“Keep your mouth closed, then,” Alistair recommended, “unless you want us to have to explain to your lovely wife that she’s a widow now. I don‘t particularly care to be gutted by her or your esteemed Ambassador, or fried or turned into a frog by your dangerous looking witch of a daughter. Might hinder our developing relationship, that. I rather like you, when you aren‘t being a stick in the mud.”

“Closed, right,” Cullen nodded, ignoring the rest of Alistair‘s descriptions of his family. “Anything else?”

“If we see anything that looks like an archdemon, leave it to me,” Alistair started, and then stopped himself. “No. If we see anything that looks like an archdemon, run. We‘ll send a messenger to Weisshaupt if that happens. Somebody there would have to listen.”

“We shouldn’t see an archdemon,” Cole frowned. “Do you want me to look for an archdemon?”

“Not unless you think you need to,” Cullen instructed gently.

“Oh, good!” Cole smiled easily. “Not for years, I think.” He moved forward, and they all followed, slowly, more worried by his comments than any of them would like to admit. “More like one person than two,” the man smiled again.

Cullen cleared his throat, “What does he mean, Your Majesty?”

“Oh, please, call me Alistair. Hard to go into the Deep Roads and not form bonds that last a lifetime.” Alistair flushed. “I supposed he means that Elissa is the part of me that never left the Wardens. And I’m… I’m the part of her that never left Highever,” He grinned, self-depreciatingly. “At least… well, for now, anyway.” He stopped, the creases at his mouth shown into greater relief in the white light of Fiona’s staff. “To tell the truth, I may not have been entirely honest with the Inquisitor. About this trip.”

“Shit,” Bull muttered. “I knew it. You’re a rotten liar, Alistair.”

“Yes, I’ve been told that before,” Alistair sounded like he was trying to be haughty. “But the fact remains, I have no intention of returning to Denerim, with or without my lady unless she’s found the cure for both of us.” Alistair rushed through before they could ask any questions, “Obviously, I couldn’t take my own guards with me on what is likely going to turn into my Calling so I… I used you… but you don’t have to worry, Teagan has the documents pardoning the mages already signed, by me. It’s part of my last requests.”

Cullen sighed, oddly resigned. “I see.” He paused, “I understand, I suppose.”

“You do?” Alistair squinted at him. “That’s rather surprising.”

“You are not the only man whose life is far more difficult without his lady,” Cullen’s speech was precise, almost prim. “Also, the Inquisitor allied with the Wardens. Alliances go both ways, and as I understand it, once a Warden, always a Warden.”

Alistair smiled, sad and vulnerable, “I suppose that is so.”

Bull grunted, “Ya could have just asked. Boss would've done it.”

Alistair’s bitter noise echoed down the cave. “Yes, well, asking doesn’t pay off for me when Elissa’s not around. It tends to surround me with twenty people all telling me exactly why what I want is a terrible idea and why I should ignore it for a better, stronger Ferelden. So… I don’t ask. I just do, and deal with the consequences when they inevitably turn out to be right.” He looked up at the ceiling, temporarily higher. “In this case, besides the instructions about the mages, of which your Ambassador has a copy, I have also left a letter explaining Keiran’s existence. It will largely go ignored by the Landsmeet. The mage thing, you know. They can’t risk it,” he sounded even more bitter. “They’ll probably go free Anora from Gwaren, begging her forgiveness, or put Teagan on the throne. Even Fergus, possibly. I should be ashamed, perhaps, but I don’t even care. I’ve done my duty for more than ten years. Now I just want to be with Elissa in the time we have left.” His voice was hard, and almost painful to listen to.

It was hard for Cullen to judge him. In the King’s rule, he had rebuilt a kingdom from the Blight, restored Grey Wardens only to have his former order betray him to a darkspawn magister, watched the sky crack open, thwarted Venatori assassins, dealt with the meltdown of the Chantry… and all those ignored the impact that all those things had on his personal life.

If ever a man had earned his Calling and some time alone with his wife… Cullen chuckled, shaking his head when Bull looked at him curiously. “It’s nothing,” he murmured.

Luckily, Fiona had moved her staff closer to the walls, staring at the blackish messes that stained them. “The Blight…” she frowned, “The Blight was so much thicker, last time.” The walls of the cavern were nearly clear, and she touched them gently. “Maric…” she whispered, “Maric told us that it wasn’t as bad, when he came before. He was surprised that there had been so much change, so quickly.”

“Is that a way that Wardens know a Blight is coming?” Cullen asked, interested, and eager to change the awkward subject.

Alistair shrugged, “Probably. I only joined about six months prior to the last Blight. I’m sure somewhere in Weisshaupt there’s a whole list of ‘Top Ten Things that Tell You When a Blight is Coming’. But I’ve never seen it. Elissa probably has, though. She was invited to most of the important meetings until she went renegade.” He looked pensive for a moment. “The dreams get worse. I know that. But they do when your Calling is close, as well. There‘s the song…” his words trailed off. “I hear that, a bit. Elissa heard it long before me. You see more darkspawn on the surface.”

He didn’t say anything else for a long time after that, and Bull’s grunts as he dodged low hanging stalactites were the only sounds except for Cole’s occasional mutters about daggers, and, “Life doth begin anew,” in a cadence and voice that only one of them recognized.

Fiona started as if stung by a bee. “What did you say?”

“’Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.

From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.

Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.

In my arms lies Eternity.’” Cullen recited perfectly. “Canticle of Andraste, Chapter 14, verse 11.”

Alistair snorted, “Show off. Bet you made it all the way through Transfigurations before the candle burned down.” He paused. “Cole, I don’t believe you’re Andrastian?”

The man-spirit stared at him, and then blinked twice deliberately. “Do I have to be? The man died, flung by a dragon. Hit the wall, snapped. It was too late, grief and loss and love and time all running out for both of them.” He sighed, “It wasn’t your fault. He was already gone. You saved who you could.” He patted Fiona’s shoulder and then pointed, “There.”

Fiona flushed, and moved in the direction he indicated. “Alistair, do you know… did your wife happen to see my accounting in Weisshaupt for what happened on our journey?”

Alistair shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s possible. Something inspired her. She came back from Weisshaupt, announced she was going to cure the Calling, we fought, we… made up, rather enthusiastically, and she took off like a bat out of a cave the next day, leaving me to explain why the Queen was gone, yet again, for mysterious Warden reasons. Why?”

“When I was… cured… there were several possibilities, none of them definite, as to why.” She flushed, bright even in the white light from her staff’s crystal. “One of them was that… I was pregnant. By your father. But even before we…” she sighed, slumping forward. “You don’t want to hear about that, do you?”

“No, by all means,” Alistair shuddered. “I barely knew of my father. But as you might have gathered, my wife and I have been trying - well, when she’s around, anyway - and we had largely given up, except that we rather enjoy…” it was his turn to flush. “This is worse than when Wynne tried to tell me about the facts of life. Or when Zevran lectured me on stamina.” His voice was prissy, his eyes anywhere but at his companions. “No talking about sex. Period. That’s a decree from the sovereign of Ferelden. Being king has to be good for something.”

Cullen choked. “Wynne taught you…”

“Nevermind,” Alistair muttered. “Were there other… possibilities then? Other than my father’s purportedly dragonblooded seed purifying you from the inside out? Because if that’s the case, then I have to say, it didn’t work on Elissa. It‘s not like she hasn‘t…”

“DRAGONBLOODED?” Bull spun so fast that his horn hit a stalactite. “Since when are you…” He grunted, “That explains the smell.” He sniffed Alistair‘s pulse. “Nice. Someone ought to bottle it.”

“Since always,” Alistair pouted. “Varric knows. Did he not share our little adventures? That’s hurtful! I thought it was quite the fun story… if personally tragic.” He inched slightly away from the Qunari‘s rather singular stare and flared nostrils. “Has anyone told you that you are nothing like Sten? I mean, the Arishok?” Bull grinned, all his teeth showing, and didn’t reply.

“Well, I didn’t know about that one,” Fiona muttered, blinking wide. “Maric must not have known…” she flushed. “Yes, but if it didn’t work on Her Majesty, I don’t imagine that was it, anyway. Besides, if they were incompatible with each other, wouldn‘t you be pure of the Blight as well? And Archdemons are Blighted Dragons!”

Bull lost his grin at Alistair‘s discomfort, and rubbed the base of his banged horn. “Down into the dark with somebody who smells like dragons and he doesn’t even swing my way. Shit. Even if Dorian would ever forgive me. Cullen?”

“Yes, Bull?” Cullen’s blush was as deep as his coat.

“I think I want to go home now.”

“You and me both, Bull,” Cullen gritted out, trying not to sweat. “You and me both.”

“In any case!” Alistair changed the subject brightly. “What are these other… possibilities?”

“Duncan had a dagger, a dagger he stole from the former First Enchanter of Kinloch,” Alistair stumbled. “And Maric had a sword like Cole explained. The Dagger… slowed the Blight, at the very least, whereas the amulets we were wearing were designed to speed it up, corrupt us quicker. We assumed at first that Duncan, as the newest Warden, was just… less corrupted than the rest of us, but afterward, when we realized the First Enchanter had designed the dagger to reverse the amulet‘s abilities we understood better. But we can’t discount Maric’s sword…”

“That sounds like it should be a hot euphemism for something,” Bull grunted. “You totally took ‘his sword’.” Alistair groaned. “What, it doesn’t work for you? If she hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here. I will never get the Southern issue with talking about sex. Even Pippa is better about it and you‘re all fucking adults.”

“I sincerely hope you haven’t been talking about sex with my daughter, Bull,” Cullen criticized.

“Keep your shirt on, Da, I’m not that kind of a perv. That‘s just sick,” Bull grunted.

“But Maric’s sword made the Blight shrink back from the walls,” Fiona continued, blushing, and speaking louder and faster. “It had blue runes set in it…” Alistair frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I believe Duncan’s dagger is back at the palace treasury,” Alistair admitted. “Elissa carried it for years. She might even have it with her now. We both… like to remember him. Maybe that’s why she lasted…” he stopped. “Maric’s sword…” he stopped entirely. “I hold no love for that weapon,” he warned her. “Blight repelling or not. But when I carried it, yes, I suppose it did seem to cleave darkspawn rather effectively.”

“Yes, well, I’m just naming ours and Weisshaupt’s suspicions,” she said testily. “In addition, there was a runed basin where… where Maric and I bathed. It washed away even the trace of the darkspawn blood in the water, leaving it pure. Afterward we… we made love…”

Bull grunted, “Love in the Deep Roads. Shit, that’s hot.” Alistair groaned.

“Given the timing,” she pressed on, her cheeks bright red against her pale skin, “I have to mention it. I could probably find it again, if necessary…”

“I hope it will not be necessary,” Alistair choked, “I have no wish to see where I was conceived. Maker’s BREATH.”

Fiona looked at him with an arched, teasing brow. “Did you really think it was only the once? Your father was a very handsome man and an attentive lover, Alistair, and we were in the Deep Roads for days.”

“Stop. Just stop.”

“There was a lake,” Fiona started up again, but with a little teasing smile. “In an area after we killed the dragon. Cloudy green water, lit underneath. Glowing green. It smelled like sulfur, brimstone. Maric quoted that… verse from the Chant of Light when he saw it. The… sludge of the mud around it whitened Duncan’s clothes, but I was careful not to touch it, only the places where the rocks were clean. It was gritty, like salt. Afterwards, I wondered…”

“Was this one before or after you had sex?” Bull wondered aloud. “Or maybe during? Hey… you and Maric and Duncan, am I right?! Shit, that would have been…”

“NO SEX!” Alistair yelled. Cullen mentally agreed.

There was a profound silence as his words echoed into the cave and fell away. A scrambling sort of sound reached them, rocks hitting the ground, a few curses and an oddly tentative female voice floated airily through the darkness. “Cheesy?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm going to end this on a cliffhanger. *insert evil magister laugh here*


	66. Crazy in the Deep Roads

“Cheesy?” The tentative voice called out again, a note of panic mixed with grief. “Andraste‘s bouncing tits, I‘m hearing things. At least it’s him, if I have to hear voices. Something new, instead of the Calling. Oghren always said I‘d go crazy in the Deep Roads. I guess I owe him five sovereigns. And… now I‘m talking to myself. Wonderful.”

“Maferath‘s cheeseballs, it is Elissa!” Alistair charged ahead, shoving his mother and Bull and Cole away in desperation, stumbling heedless into the darkness. “Elissa? Elissa?!” Fiona followed him, brightening her staff even further, making Cullen wince with the glare. She found him, staring down into a hole just to the left of the main passage with a blank expression. “What are you doing down there?”

“Just… you know… dropped in for a spell,” the voice giggled in shock. “Only it turns out, I don’t have magic. Funny thing, that. What are you doing up there? Or here at all, for that matter?”

Bull chuckled, “Good one. I like her already.”

“Can you get me out?” The female voice was urgent now, and hopeful.

“No, I thought we’d talk some more, where you can’t disappear the first time I turn around,” Alistair beamed through his sarcasm, already dropping his pack and rummaging. “Rope, rope. Right.” He dropped an edge down, holding the coil. “Can you see it?”

“I’m not sure I can climb,” the voice sighed. “I might have broken my leg. Something... popped, and…”

“How long have you been down there?” Fiona spoke, all professional healer.

“I have no idea, but I‘ve only eaten once, I figured I’d better try to make my supplies stretch. Plus I didn‘t even want to think about what to do if I needed the privy.” The voice firmed. “This is Warden Commander Theirin, and I order you assist my _husband_ , Orlesian!”

“You order me?” Fiona sounded amused. “I’m no longer a Warden, Your Majesty. Nor am I a Ferelden citizen.”

“Hmmm,” Alistair hummed in disapproval, seemingly undecided if it should be directed at his wife or his mother, his eyes tracking between the hole and Fiona worriedly. “I don’t suppose I could ask that you don’t fight with each other?”

“Cheesy, I’m very happy to see you, but you’re asking a fucking lot,” the voice pushed out hard.  "Not exactly pleased with Orlesian Wardens right now.  Might be holding a grudge against the whole damn country."

Fiona gave in first, “Luckily for you I am here to help you,” she took the length of the rope and lowered herself down. “I am a mage, and a healer, and I will see about stabilizing your leg. Then we will tie the rope around you and get you out of the hole.”

“Thank you,” Elissa whispered, pausing and continuing apologetically. “I apologize, for calling you an Orlesian, Enchanter…”

“Fiona. And my accent is Orlesian,” corrected Fiona, her voice directed strangely upwards. “It is fortuitous that we stumbled upon you before something else did, Your Majesty.”

Elissa chuckled, “I’m rather glad you didn’t stumble upon me. That would have hurt. This hole isn’t that large. That‘s why I missed it in the first place. Too excited to watch my feet, and in too much of a rush. We got caught in more traps that way, during the Blight. Thought I had outgrown it.”

Alistair grinned down into the hole, “That’s my girl. Cracking bad jokes with a broken leg at the bottom of a pit. Never change?”

“It stayed straight, and largely seems to have healed. Warden regeneration, no doubt,” Fiona mused. “But it is probably tender.” A soft glow radiated out from the hole. “I’ll take care of the swelling, at least.”

“Where, love of my life, are all your companions?” Alistair called down, a sing-song cadence of gentle chiding wrapped in affection. His open regard was somewhat embarrassing for Cullen, who cleared his throat, wishing he didn’t have to listen.

“Back at the Architect’s old lair,” Elissa snorted, and cussed at something Fiona did. “Damn, that smarts. They’re gathering up everything to bring with us. I don’t know if it will help, because whatever the bastard said before I killed him, he definitely was trying to Blight the whole of Thedas. Glad I didn‘t fall for it. But all the same, perhaps we can figure out how to do whatever he was doing in reverse? Not a mage, have no clue, but Velanna seemed optimistic.  Since she doesn't normally go in for optimism, I decided it was safe to get excited.” Rustling was heard, and the rope went taut. “Grand Enchanter Fiona, I believe the crown owes you a boon for your assistance.”

“How did you know my former…”

“I’m the Queen of Ferelden, on my better days,” Alistair and Bull and Cullen started drawing the rope up, slowly. “It’s my job to know these things. Alistair can never remember the name of whoever‘s in charge of different factions. Says it changes too often.” She paused, “Former? And you said you were a ‘former‘ Warden as well. Are you… are you _that_ Fiona?! I thought you died, or that Weisshaupt killed you when… but you‘re a mage! Did you go to the Circle instead…”

“The Circles are no more,” Fiona said gently. “The College remains, but I… no longer have a place in it. A disciplinary action, for my past decisions. And I have not been a Warden for many years. It is… a long story. One that you seem somewhat familiar with.”

“Yes, I see,” Elissa grunted as she bumped against the wall. “So… you’re all with the Inquisition? Some of their scouts found me several years back. It was all I could do to stay polite. Teagan would have been proud of me, Alistair. I even sent the Inquisitor a present,” she called up. “I’ve learned a lot, haven‘t I?”

“That’s my girl,” Alistair sighed again, seemingly perfectly serious, “the most diplomatic of Warden Commanders and Queens.” He paused, “Though why you didn’t write to me…”

“Didn’t want it to be intercepted,” she grunted again. “Weisshaupt was trying to find me. You know they love to read my mail. Not sure why they want me so desperately, and I didn’t want to go find out - not when we were making progress. Of a sort. Sick to death of Weisshaupt business. Let them solve their own fucking problems for once. All of them are of their own making. They won‘t approve of me trying to cure Wardens when we‘re already under-recruiting.”

“I was worried, you know,” now Alistair was more pitiful than a small sick child. His frequent mood changes were making Cullen dizzy. “What if, I don’t know, let’s just say for the sake of argument, you had fallen down a hole while trying to get back to the surface?”

Elissa’s head, lightly threaded with silver winking in the light of Fiona’s staff, popped up over the edge. “Oh, Cheesy, would I let a simple little hole stop me? Me? Who did slay the Archdemon Urthemiel with naught but bad breath and a naughty song?”

“Oh, is that how the story goes today?” Alistair and the others tugged on the rope, holding it steady while Cole helped her to sit on the edge. He knelt next to her and kissed her hand, smiling with tears in his eyes. “Hello, you. Long time no see.”

She grabbed his shoulders and slid her arms around his back, holding him without moving. “You arse. Come here and hold me. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see anyone.” He kissed her cheek and closed his eyes, but Cullen saw the tears dripping from hers. Then she shoved him away, “Don’t you have a kingdom to rule? Or did you have to run away from all the single ladies Eamon kept throwing at you? Or were you just here to confirm that yes, actually, you are a widower, and now you can see whether those Chantry tales about going blind from too much sex are true after all?” She hardly stopped talking, “Because I hate to disappoint you, but I’m very much alive.” She paused, frowning, “But if that’s the case, why were you yelling, ‘No Sex?’ I certainly hope you didn‘t mean it. You haven‘t taken vows or something since the last time we spoke, have you? Because if that was the only way to stop Eamon, we could just have Zevran kill him, or something. I won‘t say I didn‘t think about it. Him and Isolde both. Worth it, after Connor decided to go loyalist. I‘m convinced it‘s all their fault.”

Bull tossed down the rope, chuckling, and Fiona crawled up, surprisingly spry for someone of her age.

Alistair looked sheepish and didn‘t answer. “Can you stand, or should I carry you?”

“Oh, you’d like that,” Elissa tilted an eyebrow at him. “Nothing’s too cheesy for a good Fereldan like you.” She patted his cheek. “Healer Fiona, can I walk?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” the Enchanter admitted. “Bones take time, Your Majesty. Magic doesn‘t heal everything. I believe it to be a simple fracture, but I‘d need to examine you further. Preferably in better light.”

“Please, call me Elissa,” the woman bowed regally from a sitting position, as if mocking herself. “One should be on a first time basis with their healer, after all.”

“And possibly with other people,” Alistair grinned. “Elissa, my dove,” he batted his eyelashes winsomely, “I’d like to introduce you to your mother in law.” Elissa stared at him, and then at Fiona, and then hit Alistair. “Ouch! I bruise easily!”

“And heal just as easily,” Elissa stuck out her tongue at him. “Warden regeneration. Talk, Cheesy. She’s the serving woman? Does Goldanna The Bitch know she‘s still alive?! How does your mother suddenly become the Grand Enchanter? That‘s quite the promotion.”

“Former,” corrected Fiona, fidgeting. “I have no more claim on that title.”

Alistair beamed, “I knew you wouldn’t care.”

Elissa blinked, confused, “Your mother was a serving woman. The only serving women that weren’t elves at Redcliffe castle were Isolde’s ladies in waiting, and Eamon didn‘t marry her until after…” she teared up. “Is that why you didn’t tell me your mother was the Grand Enchanter? Because you thought I… Alistair Theirin… I’m not as ignorant as I used to be! I‘ve grown up! You said no more secrets!”

“I didn’t know myself,” Alistair protested. “How was I supposed to know that you…” he stopped. “You knew? And loved me anyway. From the very beginning.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to kiss you. All of the rest of you, you better turn away, because no one is going to stop me.”

“Alis…” her words were muffled, while Cullen looked up, Fiona sideways, with a slight smile, and Bull and Cole both kept watching, rather curiously on the latter’s side, and Bull with an approving grunt. Violent kissing noises went on for a few minutes, growing more and more enthusiastic.

Cole spoke up, “I don’t think they’re kissing any more. This is something… different.”

Alistair pulled away, “Elissa, do try to contain yourself. I know I’m hopelessly attractive, and that you haven’t had a single taste of this regal magnificence in years, but you’re the Queen, you know. Do show some decorum? And in front of your mother in law! For shame!”

“Your Majesty,” Elissa was breathless. “Pray forgive me.” She pinched his cheek. “Later, then?”

“As soon as we get you someplace you can rest the leg,” Alistair promised. “Where were you headed? Redcliffe? Teagan‘s not at home…”

“Oh,” Elissa blew out a breath. “Now that you’re here, I’m not going back to the surface. Not yet. I was only coming to fetch you because… because we might have it. The others were busy, so I was headed to surface to more safely travel alone. At certain people‘s insistence. Guess who?” She looked at him anxiously. “And if it pays off, you need to go first. You’re the most important.” Her eyes were soft as she threaded her fingers through the tuft of his hair at the peak of his forehead and down his cheek to the scruff of his beard.

Alistair squeezed her thigh and evaded the argument. “Is there a place we can make camp ahead?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

He turned his back, and ordered Bull, “Lift her up on my back.”

“You are going to throw your back out, you silly man,” she scolded, while wrapping her arms around his neck as Bull lifted her. “I’m still wearing full armor!” She peered down the hole. “Shit, my helm’s still down there. Guess I’ll need a new one.”

“Sorry, no one carries you but me,” he challenged. “Just found you, not letting you go so easily. You’ll disappear again, leaving me all alone with Eamon and his dastardly plans. And if I know you, you‘ve probably found twenty helms since you‘ve been down here, hoarding them all up in some pile like the dragon you are.”

“But that was the one with the horns!  It was my favorite!”

Bull sniffled slightly, and Cole patted his arm. “I know, the Iron Bull, it’s horribly romantic. Dorian would be disgusted. He misses you, too.”

“Right, yeah, that’s it. Romantic.” He whimpered slightly. “He called her a dragon, Cole. Shit, if that’s not love, what is?” He rubbed the tears out of his eye.

“I’m sure Dorian would call you a dragon if you asked.”

“Not the same, big guy, not the same,” sighed Bull wistfully.

Cullen merely followed, keeping his rather impatient thoughts to himself. Perhaps Asta should have come, Ian or no Ian. She might have been able to deal better with these two fools who happened to be the rulers of his country.

Apparently, some of Leliana’s more… elaborate stories were true after all.

Surely he and Asta were at least more decorous than this, when they traveled together?

Suddenly, he didn’t want to know.

***

Cullen pulled out the crystal in camp, and frowned at it thoughtfully, eying Bull. “Are you going to…”

“Go on ahead,” Bull pouted. “Still haven’t gotten over the whole ‘why don’t you ever call me your dragon’ thing. Have to figure out how to ask him to do it. He’ll do it, but the timing’s got to be right.”

Cullen shook his head, “Do you want me to say something?”

“Nah,” Bull shrugged. “It’s all good. You talk to Asta. She probably wants to chew you out for not remembering your socks or something. You ought to tell her she‘s not your mother. Have a fight, make up afterward. You two have been too happy lately. Bit annoying, honestly. Need to spice things up before you go all… domestic.” He said the word like a death sentence.

Cullen sighed, and activated the crystal.

“Amatus!” The voice was too excited.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Cullen managed. “Is Asta around?”

“Oh,” Dorian’s voice deflated. “Is he there… can I talk…” there were sounds of a brief struggle before Asta’s voice, breathless, with a minor wail of disappointment from Dorian, broke in.

“Cullen.” She panted.

He melted, “It’s good to hear you.”

“Same here. Hang on. I’m going to get away from wailing mages. Come on, Pippa!” The wailing stopped after the sound of a closed door. “He was so sure that Bull would call him first. Can you do him a favor and pass it on to Bull afterward? Dorian says that Bull was insistent that Emily have his crystal for emergencies.”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat and muttered, “Tell Dorian to call him a dragon, but to have proper timing, whatever that means.”

“Duly noted. So how was your day?” Asta laughed. “Meet anyone interesting?”

“You might say that,” Cullen allowed, “If you count meeting the Hero of Ferelden as someone interesting.”

“No!” Asta’s voice hitched. “What’s she like?!”

“She’s fond of bad puns and terrible jokes. My sovereign calls her a dragon as an affectionate nickname. Thus Bull’s sulking. She already knew her husband was half-elf, logically, and it never bothered her. She’s horribly inappropriate and…” deeply in love with her husband was too personal by far, but he had to say something else, “…and a very nice person, if a bit loquacious. She had fallen down a hole in an attempt to get back to the surface. She’s found something interesting, and is hoping it bears fruit. We‘ve barely spoken. I‘m hoping she doesn‘t remember me.”

“So you’re already in the Deep Roads after only a few days,” Asta mused. “You don’t sound like you’re doing too badly.”

“I’m not,” Cullen admitted. “Sweating a little, but Fiona’s light helps a great deal. Also, there’s apparently very little darkspawn in the area, according to Alistair. The lyrium cravings are… almost non-existent. Not sure why. Perhaps we‘re nowhere near a mine?”

“Good,” Asta sounded more like the Inquisitor now. “Keep your mouth shut. If you run into a Hurlock Alpha, Fiona will probably freeze it, and then you can go for it’s…”

Cullen laughed then. “I know how to fight, love. And Alistair already told us not to swallow the blood.”

“I owe him one then.” Asta sounded sad, like she wished she was there to advise him instead. “Tell him thank you. So if you’ve found her, when are you coming home?” Ian babbled something unintelligible but loud. She laughed, “And that was your son, trying to suck on the crystal. No, no, Ian.”

His longing to be with them ran through him like a stab wound. “Pup, be nice to your Mum, and don‘t put strange things in your mouth. And love, I can see where this is going… I don’t think it was as cut and dried as His Majesty hoped. And there’s a little matter with the King…”

“Who doesn’t want to leave,” Alistair cut in, and sat next to him. “Wonderful little toy, that,” he looked at the crystal with admiration. “Where did you get such a thing?”

“Is that His Majesty?” Asta’s voice was hard. “Tell him to fuck off. This is our time, and if he’s keeping you away longer…”

“Ouch,” Alistair winced. “I was going to ask permission, Inquisitor.”

“Oh,” Asta’s voice was softer. “Well, that’s something. Why don’t you want to leave? Make it quick. I have maybe a half hour before Dorian starts trying to burn down the door, and Pippa is wanting a chance to talk to her Da.”

Alistair’s explanation was succinct, as requested. “Well, you have to retrieve the information,” she admitted at last. “Too valuable to leave to rot. I’m glad there’s been no trace of the Architect. Is he dead, after all, then?”

“Cole seems… unsure.”

“That’s odd. What does he mean?”

“He said, ‘We could kill him if we recognize him.’ For now, we might as well count our blessings.”

Alistair got back up and wandered off in the direction of his wife, who was sitting by the fire looking bored, but smiled when he settled down next to her, leaning into him fondly. Cullen tore his eyes away and back to the crystal. “We’re alone-ish again, love.”

“All right, Pippa, now’s your chance.”

“Da, I learned about auras today! I can cast one that makes a person stay healthy!”

Cullen caught his breath, “Well done! That’s pretty advanced, isn’t it?”

“Rhys says so. Says I would be a great healer, if I wanted to be. I’m not sure yet. I was reading about Knight-Enchanters and that seems more like my kind of thing. Then you’d have to teach me how to swordfight! We could spend more time together!” She sounded so happy. “Would you teach me, if I asked?”

“Of course I would,” Cullen laughed at her. “The Knight-Enchanter tradition is a wonderful one.” He let her babble on about her latest interest for a little while, enjoying her voice. When she finally ran out of things to say she said, “Oh, I’m taking more than my share. Mum wants you. She’s giving me that look. I’ll leave you alone. Well, alone with Ian, anyway. Bye, Da! Be safe! Hope says that Mercy’s watching out for you, so the dreams won’t be as bad.”

“Thank you,” Cullen’s heart melted slightly. “I love you, Pip.”

“Love you, too.” He heard his door close, and his wife sigh, and the bed rustle.

“There,” she sounded less tense now. “Ian is on the floor, scooting around looking for things to put in his mouth, of which there is none, I’m happy to say, because I swept it myself earlier to make sure, and I’m here, on the bed speaking to you. Only way this could be better is if you were here.” Her voice broke slightly.

“Are you angry?” Cullen’s heart pounded. “I could just come home… the Warden wasn’t alone, it turns out…”

“No, I’m not angry, just… frustrated,” Asta laughed. “In more ways than one. I got used to having you around. I’m spoiled, love.” Her voice purred.

“Oh, well, that’s good,” Cullen smiled to himself.

“Is it then?”

He leaned back against the rock wall, still smiling. “Yes, because then you’ll be even happier when I finally get home.”

“That’s true,” Asta giggled. “I don’t suppose we could…”

“No, that’s ridiculous.” Her small sound of disappointment made him sigh. “I’m not alone on this end, love. Bull’s glaring at me right now. Fiona is trying to give her son and daughter in law… space. I’m carefully not looking at… them… at the moment.”

“You’re blushing,” Asta mused.

“I am not.” He was lying.

“Definitely blushing,” Asta shifted, the bedclothes rustling. “I won’t tease anymore. But talk to me a little longer. Dorian hasn’t started banging yet. I‘ve missed you so. I meant it when I said you can talk to me every night. Dorian and I were getting worried.”

As if by cue, the door started rattling. “Fasta Vass, Amica, let me in! Ouch!” Dorian let out a stream of invectives in Tevene. “Your infuriating, diabolical genius of a daughter warded the door with electricity! She bloody well knows that spirit magic isn’t my forte! I want to talk to my Amatus, damn it! You’ve had your turn!”

“Shut it, mage-boy,” Asta yelled back. “And I’m… nursing! Yes, I’m nursing Ian and talking to Cullen. So lest you be exposed to my female bosoms…”

“Nice try, Amica,” Dorian sounded slightly respectful at the attempt. “Your breasts hold no attraction for me, nor do I fear them. Open the door and let me talk to Bull!”

Asta puffed. “I guess that’s it, love. Even being half naked wouldn’t put him off. Ass!” She yelled at the door.

Cullen chuckled, “I’m glad he’s there for you.”

“Me, too, but don’t tell him that. You know what he’s like when people start appreciating him. He gets all sniffly, and his kohl starts to run,” She sounded fond. “I appreciate you. Thank you. I wanted to meet the Warden, but maybe I’ll still get a chance…”

“I’ll mention it to the King, and I‘ll let you know soon how much longer I‘ll be,” Cullen promised, and rose, “I’m handing the crystal to Bull, now.” Bull looked hopeful. “So you can open the bedroom door, if you think you won’t get shocked.”

“Oh, she only warded the outside,” Asta made a kissy nose at the crystal as she opened the door. “Consider yourself kissed. Be safe. I love you…” Dorian made an impatient gagging noise. “Stuff it, Amicus. You’re even worse, and you know it,” Cullen heard before Bull waved him away.

“Hey Kadan,” Bull grunted. “So… what’re you wearing?”

Dorian’s tittered giggles made Cullen walk faster in the opposite direction.

But he slept without difficulty, and oddly, without dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The helmet that Elissa describes as her favorite, is my favorite. The Thane helmet, that you get at the beginning of Origins. It has horns! It's the only helm that I always make sure I can see while they're running around doing stuff, because it makes me laugh.
> 
> R.I.P. Thane Helm. No doubt someone will find you in the Deep Roads in a dozen years and wonder how you ended up down a hole.


	67. Permission, for once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mention of rape in this chapter, regarding the Origins city elf storyline. Pretty mild, but I don't want anyone taken unawares.
> 
> Rather NSFW towards the end. You'll see it coming. (Insert drum beat and cymbal clash for punch line here.)
> 
> Sorry, I'm suffering from insomnia this morning, thus the extremely early (for me) chapter, and so everything is funny. Everything. It's like being drunk, but still being able to edit.
> 
> I'll shut up now and let you read.

The Architect’s study was a strange place, filled with ancient scrolls, and suspicious looking Wardens, and bathed in a strange orange light. “Oh, can it, Nate,” Elissa huffed at her second in command at his demand to halt and declare. “It’s Alistair, and… some members of the Inquisition.” Cullen felt her eyes rest on him, but dismiss him quickly. All to the better.

Bull grunted at the books. “Shit, we should have brought Petri or Dorian after all. Those are ancient Tevene.” He reached out a finger, stopping just short of touching the vellum.

A small dwarf woman with black tattoos popped up her head. “The Inquisition has someone who reads ancient Tevene?! That’s… that’s wonderful! Where?”

“South Reach,” Bull nodded in greeting. “The Iron Bull. You?”

“Sigrun,” she smiled, her eyes glazed with fatigue and excitement. “Some of the stuff in here is dwarven, but not much. His tools though…” she moaned a little like Dagna when presented with a magical conundrum. “So pretty.”

“I told you, Sig, you can keep anything you like, with luck, he‘s not coming back to use them, and if he is, anything we take will just hold him up further,” Elissa called back, while she argued with the man called Nate, who was glowering at Alistair. “Oh, come on,” she tugged at her husband. “Alistair, you remember Nathaniel Howe?”

“I do,” Alistair seemed unimpressed. “Glad she’s still alive. You‘re only still alive because of her. She dies, you‘re dead.”

“If she dies, we’re all dead,” Nate threw back. “Weisshaupt will see to that. How’s the Calling? Must be bothering you, since you‘re here. Finally decided you were still a Warden after all, Your Majesty? Figured out that you couldn’t just leave after all?”

“Oh, stop the fucking pissing contest already!” Elissa stomped her foot childishly. “That’s an order, both of you, from your Warden Commander. And yes, Alistair, I still outrank you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Alistair beamed fondly, promptly ignoring Howe in favor of his wife. “This way we won’t end up in a dead-end and surrounded by Hurlocks. You‘ve never steered me wrong.”

Elissa flushed. “Right. You keep telling yourself that, and try not to think about Aeducan Thaig. Fiona, I don‘t suppose you know Ancient Tevene?”

“I’m afraid not,” the mage sighed.

Cullen spoke up, “Besides the experts Bull mentioned, we have an Arcanist who can help with the dwarven inscriptions…”

“That would be brilliant. Oghren and I are the opposite of scholars,” Sigrun chimed in, fingering a set of copper calipers with a longing look on her face. “I have no idea what some of these things do or measure. And there’s this strange green orb over in the corner that Velanna got freaky excited about… said it was Elvhen.”

Cullen’s stomach sank, but sure enough, there was one of Solas’ devices for measuring the Veil. “We’re familiar with those, as well. For better or worse, we’re no longer able to activate them…” he paused, but pushed on. “You… you haven’t found any mirrors, have you?”

“Mirrors?” Sigrun frowned. “Definitely not. Nate, you haven’t seen any mirrors, right?”

“Why, need to check to make sure your ponytails are even?”

“Fuck off, asshole.” But Sigrun fingered the ends self-consciously.

“Uninspired, Sig. I expected better from you.”

“Children!” Elissa warned. “Play nice.”

“But, Mama,” Sigrun sassed, “Nate was picking on me again.”

“So dissect him with your daggers. You can take him. You saved all of Amaranthine on your own. Skinny little Nate will give you no trouble at all.” The man in question snorted, but didn‘t challenge her.

The blonde elf Cullen intuited to be Velanna came in, smudges of dirt criss-crossing her cheeks, nearly buried behind a stack of books. “These are the ones I could guarantee wouldn’t fall apart if I touched them, Nate.”

“Thank you,” Nate’s voice had changed to a tone of great respect for the first time.

“How do we get them to the experts?” Elissa frowned in Cullen and Bull‘s general direction. “I can’t trust Weisshaupt with these. I’ve got bad, bad feelings about them, and my intuition says the best thing is to just not let them know we’ve found anything of interest. On our last visit…”

“I must differ,” Nate contradicted. “Their archives are so extensive… just telling the Chancellor surely wouldn‘t…”

“No,” Elissa ordered succinctly. “You don’t have to be here, Nate. I gave all of you the choice, and you said you’d come. It saved you from becoming one of Clarel’s sacrifices, didn’t it? You know that mess isn’t over, Corypheus or no Corypheus.” She sighed, and tried to explain to Cullen, “It’s an internal debate - one that is dividing the Wardens. What is our purpose? To prevent Blights? To fight the ones that occur? Or is it merely to protect the people on the surface from the dangers of darkspawn with our lives, as necessary? It divides us all. Down here, we’re safely out of it, at least until they drag us back in, kicking and screaming to solve all their problems. With a Cure in our hands, we’ll have the bargaining chip we need to make reforms.” She squeezed Alistair’s arm, and he dropped the argument he had been preparing with the simple touch, though he watched her with a sad look on his face.

Cullen thought briefly of Thom, last known to be rebuilding the Wardens, and wondered silently if he had gotten caught up in something far darker than a skirmish with darkspawn gone bad.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one drawing the parallels. Because Bull huffed, “So… what does it mean when the Wardens send someone a badge and a griffon feather?”

“A what?” Elissa tore her glare away from her back-talking second in command. “Back in the day, that was a notice to the next of kin that a griffon rider was dead. You give up your badge when you leave the Wardens. Death is the most permanent way of leaving the Wardens, as well as the most common.” She sounded distinctly bitter and wistful. “And if you were lucky enough to have a griffon - even during the Fourth Blight there wasn't enough to go around - but shit, I’d like to have lived back then. Might have made the taint worth it, to have a griffon… Always wanted to fly, I still dream about it sometimes.” Alistair slipped an arm around her and squeezed and she leaned against him. “I’ve read most of the books in Weisshaupt on griffons. There’s a reason they’re on the Order’s coat of arms.”

Nate turned away then, “Griffons, griffons, griffons,” he muttered irritably.  Elissa stuck her tongue out at him, but straightened up and looked slightly less wistful.

“Shit,” Bull and Cullen’s faces fell. “I suppose Thom didn’t have anyone else to tell besides Josie, then. But where did he get the feather? And how‘d he die?”

“It should have come with a letter of condolence. If it didn’t, all you can do is ask Weisshaupt,” Elissa made a face. “Not that they’ll answer, the holier than thou ‘it’s all okay if its in the name of preventing Blights‘ assholes. Happily ignoring the fact that they run the Anderfels, all while maintaining that they ‘retain political autonomy’. ‘Wardens cannot interfere in the political affairs of nations,’” she mocked, grinning at Alistair, who smiled sheepishly back. “What a crock of sh…”

“Shh,” Alistair laid a finger on her lips. “Don’t give up all our secrets,” he teased. “There’s still a few I haven’t passed onto the Inquisition yet. We might need a bargaining chip to get out of their hands alive,” he teased.

“Oh, Cheesy, I’ve missed you,” Elissa pulled away and refocused on the monumental task. “Maybe we can make up some crates? Sig, do you think Oghren could chop up the Architect’s desk or shelves with one of the Darkspawn waraxes he’s collecting? Even the Nugget Warrior doesn’t need that many axes, right? We could probably tie them together, even without nails… Alistair has rope… can we use moss for packing material, Velanna?”

The elf sneered, “I suppose, if you want moisture to damage the vellum, parchment, and hides. These are extremely old, Warden Commander. We need copyists, and preferably not to move them at all.”

Elissa limped over to her, using a beat up axe as a cane. “Damn. How do we get them out of here? We can’t leave them alone… we don’t know for sure if the Architect’s dead.”

The blond elf eyed her suspiciously, “Warden Commander, why are you limping? Something happened! What did you do… did you run headlong into a trap _again?!_   I knew you should have taken Sig with you! You’ll never learn! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times…”

“Velanna! Velanna! NO! It was a hole!” Elissa protested.

“You should splint it…”

“It’s been treated,” Elissa protested.

Velanna glared. “By who? You? By _Alistair_? It’s not all stitches and elfroot… And I wouldn‘t let His Majesty come within ten feet of me with a needle or elfroot, he'd probably poison me instead…”

“I did it,” Fiona stepped out from the shadows, cautiously drawing the attention back onto herself.

Elissa smiled at her mother in law. “Gather up, troops, I’m not Leliana, but I’ve got a story to tell. It’s a long one, and it started sad, but I hope it will have a happy ending.” She grabbed Alistair’s hand, trailing her like a lost puppy. She nodded respectfully at Fiona, “This, Children, is the former Grand Enchanter Fiona, the only known Cured Warden, and the subject of that fascinating little romp through recent history that Velanna uncovered at Weisshaupt. You can grill her later, Vel. Patience. She’s also, as it turns out…” Elissa paused for effect, and Nate snorted with amusement, quickly schooling his features to his usual disdain, “...My mother in law. That’s right, Alistair found his mommy, and Goldanna The Bitch was never his sister.”

“Oh…” Sigrun squealed. “Congratulations! I hope you‘ll be very happy!”

Nate froze. “His Majesty’s half elf?”

“What of it?” Elissa glowered. “Least his father wasn’t a conniving, rape encouraging, money grubbing, murdering son of a bitch.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Alistair muttered. “And if one more of you call me ‘Your Majesty’…”

“It was _not_ rape. Your father…” Fiona began chidingly.

“Was a good man, yes, I’ve heard that rumor rather recently,” Alistair rolled his eyes. “Mother, I believe that will get tiresome. I suspect you of not a little bias on the matter.”

“Anyway, Fiona is a mage, Vel,” Elissa instructed, speaking loudly enough to stop the bickering. “So I want you two to sit down, hash it out, and figure out what in her story, if not a combination of all of them, caused the Cure.” She beamed with enthusiasm, “I feel like we’re so close!”

***

That evening, Cullen found himself and Bull cornered in the empty room they had claimed for their bedrolls, by the diminutive, in comparison to them, Warden Commander. She was rather intimidating. “So… the Inquisition has scholars and an Arcanist?”

“Yes, Arcanist Dagna…”

Elissa squealed, and her aura of authority dissolved. “Dagna’s with the Inquisition!”

“Right, she talked about meeting you. I should warn you that she has quite a hero-crush on you…” Cullen began.

Elissa blew a raspberry, “Doesn’t everyone? I mean, I did kill the Archdemon Urthemiel with just my bare hands and a fart in his general direction.” She winked at Bull. “Even Sten was calling me Kadan by the end. Not everyone gets to claim the Arishok’s friendship. Anyway, Ser Cullen,” she stood at parade rest, arms crossed behind her back, all business again in an instant. “I wanted to ask how much the Inquisitor might be willing to assist us in this matter. Alistair said I had to ask permission, not forgiveness, because he already used up any leeway he might have had getting here under false pretenses… and Cheesy would know. He learned his lessons from Eamon better than I ever did from Aldous, however he prefers to use them.” She made a face. “So this is me asking. You don’t owe us anything, but… we could really use someone who knows what they’re looking at.” Her expression turned plaintive. “It’s not just selfish, really. If Wardens knew that it wasn’t forever - that they could serve for a time, and then retire - it would make a huge difference in recruitment numbers. Alistair and I proved that it doesn’t have to take the death of a Warden to bring down an Archdemon. You just… need to have a Witch of the Wilds on your side, I suppose. And Leliana says that,” she swallowed, “that Kieran is a relatively normal lad and Morrigan a good mother.” She smiled, sadly, “I’m happy for Morrigan. I wish Alistair could meet…” she braced herself against her axe-cane. “But that’s besides the point. There are other ways, better ways, to do what we do. Ways that might not be quite as grey as our name implies, and definitely ways that aren’t as dark.” She nodded positively, “I hope to take my Wardens in a different direction - and I‘ve already taken steps to separate from Weisshaupt by dragging us out here. Less secrecy - though my recent adventures might not indicate so - to bring us out into accountability. I’d like to see the ancient treaties get redrawn before the next Blight.”

“I imagine the Inquisitor would be more than pleased to help…” Cullen started again.

“Excellent! I’ll tell Alistair that talking worked, for once!” Elissa laughed, “I hope it goes to his head. A proud Cheesy is a fun Cheesy. Eamon seems to take his victories as his own. Maker, I dislike that man. Should have let him die, back in the day. Temple blew up anyway - so its not like the Ashes did anyone else any good. Had the chance, didn‘t take it. Oh well, Leliana would have killed me.  It's never smart to piss Leliana off.”

Cullen slumped down against the wall as she sauntered away, feeling like she had picked him up and dropped him off a cliff. Such was the force of her personality. “Bull?”

“Yeah, Cullen?”

“I think I want to go home now. At least she doesn’t remember me.”

“Oh, she knows exactly who you are, Cullen. She just doesn’t care. She doesn’t have time to worry about you. Too worried about her man. Had the whole thing from Cole earlier. He’s working some serious overtime down here. You should hear the shit Alistair and the Hero are thinking about each other.  But there,” Bull pressed the crystal into his hands. “You go first tonight. Dorian’s expecting it.” He slapped his shoulder. Cullen winced. But Bull left him alone, shutting the door after him.

Cullen, defeated, activated the crystal.

“Cullen,” Asta sounded breathless again.

“Asta,” he relaxed at the sound of her voice. “What are you doing that has you so…”

“Rylen, the arse, has me running up hills with a full pack, and adding weight to it daily,” Asta groaned and he heard the bed creak. “I’m not getting left behind again.”

“And Pup?”

“With Lady Cerastes,” Asta sighed. “He’s getting clingy. She called it ‘separation anxiety’. He doesn’t want to be away from me for more than a minute. She begged to have him for the whole afternoon in order to give me a break, and I gratefully accepted.” She paused. “Are you alone? It sounds awfully quiet there.”

Cullen laughed, “I am. Bull handed me the crystal, walked away, and shut the door. And I’m… all right. For the moment, anyway. Was there something you needed?”

“Mmm, definitely,” Asta teased. “Like a bath. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in helping? The water‘s right here…”

Cullen groaned, “Asta…”

Her voice dimmed, “I’ll just hop out of these sweaty clothes…”

Cullen laughed, “Inquisitor… you realize…”

“You only call me Inquisitor anymore when you think I’m doing something I shouldn’t be.  Don't be so condescending, love.” He heard the dragging of a chair, and a thunk as the crystal was placed down. “There, now I have my hand free and you can still hear me,” she teased.

“Asta Rutherford,” Cullen cleared his throat.

“For soap, Ser,” Asta sighed again, exasperated. “If you object that much, I’ll just bathe and stop telling you about it. Report, Ser Knight!”

So Cullen began, “Warden Commander Theirin has formally requested our assistance, in the form of Dagna and Petri and possibly Dorian, if he can leave Emily, to decipher some of the texts in the Architect’s cavern.”

“Mmm,” Asta’s voice was suspiciously warm. “That’s good.”

“I told her you would likely be happy to oblige, despite it being outside our original agreement,” Cullen continued.

Her breath hitched. “In that you were correct. More than happy, to oblige.”

“Asta,” Cullen stopped.

“Cullen?”

“Are you touching yourself?” He asked, incredulous, but envious.

“One normally does, while one is bathing.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Cullen-we-shouldn’t-be-doing-this-Rutherford?”

“I would, actually,” he cleared his throat awkwardly with the admission.

“So that you can chastise me for not taking this conversation seriously? I have precious few moments alone, you know, between Pippa and Ian, and Josie, and _Dorian_. I hardly think…”

“So that I can picture it, love.” Cullen palmed himself. “You’re right, as always. Maker, if you knew how much I miss you…”

“How much?” She sounded shy.

“If you were here, I’d show you,” Cullen blushed, trying to convince himself that there was nothing wrong with this conversation. “I can’t believe I’m…”

“It’s all right, Cullen. Let me hear you? Tell me…”

“I’d kiss you, first. I’d find your breasts, and…” Asta’s breath hitched again, upwards and into a moan. “Love?”

“No, that’s good. Keep going.”

His voice dropped lower, afraid of being overheard. “I’d lick them. Mouth them. Suck on the nipples. Kiss the sides until the marks showed. And then I’d watch you drop your hand between your legs.”

“Sweet Maker, Cullen, don’t stop.”

“I wouldn’t dare, sweet lady. Perhaps, if you wanted, I’d follow your hand down. Press my mouth against you. Taste you. You’re always so sweet… you know how much I love your flavor…” his voice broke, husky.

“By all the old gods, Cullen!” Asta’s voice reflected her approval.

“I’d make you stroke yourself, while I… I filled you with my tongue.” He closed his eyes, trying simultaneously to picture it, and not dwell. He failed.

“I hope you’re getting something out of this, too, love.”

With that permission, Cullen unlaced himself, and pulled himself out, firmly blocking any final issues his logical side had with the situation. “I am now.” He curled his hand into a fist.

“Shit.” On the other side of the crystal, Asta panted. He heard the faint splash of water. “I’m… not going to last.”

“Don’t bother,” Cullen groaned. “Where is your hand?”

“Right where you left it, love. The rest of me is wanting you.”

“Then… after I drank my fill, I’d make you enter yourself. I’d watch you dip inside, stroking, stretching… you’d be wet from my mouth, and from yourself. I’d kiss you again then, let you taste yourself on me, before sliding between your legs.”

“Fuck,” the word was barely audible, and then she wailed, low and desperate. “Cullen!”

“I’d slip in, and you’d be so warm, so tight. I’d probably lose it right then…” Her wordless noises were accompanied with much sloshing. “Holy Andraste, love, I’m…” He broke then, with a groan, into his hand, losing his train of thought and being probably much louder than he should have been, and knowing there would be no hiding it from Bull later.

Right now he didn’t really care. Caring could wait.

Asta’s contented humming droned from the crystal. “Oh, Maker, I see why Dorian likes this… not as good but better than…”

“Don’t. Talk. About. Dorian.” Cullen managed, barely, his heart pounding in his ears.

“Are you all right?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

“Better now,” Cullen laughed, hoarsely, and dug out his handkerchief and canteen to clean himself up. “I just don’t want to think about Dorian just after doing… that.”

“When are you coming home?” Cullen leaned back again, more relaxed and breathing deep, not bothering to re-lace himself yet.

“As soon as I can. Sooner, if you can send Petri and Dagna this direction. We’ll send guides. Let all the experts talk to each other, I would say.”

“Can I come with them? I could make an argument that I‘m an expert…”

“If Rylen says you’re ready for combat, and Mia agrees to watch the kids, and Ian is weaned. You know you’d regret a wet-nurse.”

“Rylen will never think I’m ready. If he had been in charge, we would have never have closed the rifts in the Hinterlands, much less defeated Corypheus. At least, not with me in the field.  And Ian is still spitting out mostly milk porridge. So that’s a no, I guess.”

“I’d never dream of telling you ‘no‘, love. But I want you safe. Right now, safe is South Reach.” Cullen’s heart broke at the sound of her sadness. “I want you here, too.”

“I’ve got you beat, then. I want you everywhere,” Asta laughed then. “Come home, love.”

“I’m trying. Just a little longer, I think.”

 


	68. The Wrong Place Trying to Make it Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from One Republic's 'Come Home'.
> 
> "…There’s someone I’ve been missing  
> I think that they could be  
> The better half of me  
> They’re in the wrong place trying to make it right  
> But I’m tired of justifying  
> So I say to you
> 
> Come home  
> Come home  
> ‘Cause I’ve been waiting for you  
> For so long  
> And right now there’s a war between the vanities  
> But all I see is you and me  
> The fight for you is all I’ve ever known  
> So come home…"

Petri and Dagna arrived a week later, and promptly went into ecstasies at the number of books, scrolls and papers. “Dumat’s Silence… or perhaps I should say Urthemiel’s Beauty,” Petri marveled at Cullen. “This is the find of the age. Possibly bigger than the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Genitivi, eat your heart out!”

“Hey! I liked Genitivi, the sweet old bugger!” Elissa had at first viewed Petri’s Tevinter accent with suspicion, but had warmed up when she observed his easy manner. “What’s he up to these days? Does the leg bother him much?”

“Investigating the First Blight, I believe,” Cullen managed. “From my wife’s letters with him. He’s always traveling. I didn’t even notice a limp, when I met him in Val Royeaux. Insanely popular, as always.”

“Good, I didn’t figure he’d go back to Denerim, not after Weylon’s death, but I wasn’t sure if he got caught in the boom at the Temple. Glad he got out.”

“So was everyone. He could so easily have been there. It was a fluke, really, that he wasn’t. Much like how the Right and Left Hands were delayed. I‘ve wondered for years if there was a Warden double agent that was responsible for it? A lot of Wardens were found dead in the Temple. We didn‘t understand the connection until much later.”

Elissa nodded thoughtfully. “Might have been. The False Calling didn’t take all of us the same way, if that wasn‘t obvious.”

Petri eyeballed the makeshift crates, oblivious to the conversation around him. “Yes, these will do. We hired Druffalo and a cart at the last village to pull them back to South Reach. We just have to get them out, and then we’ll head back and start work.”

Elissa nodded. “Great. Before we leave, though, Vel and Fiona would like to consult with you. They understand your grandfather did some groundbreaking work with metals, and wanted to ask you and Dagna about…” Elissa unsheathed the dagger at her hip, “this, and the clarifying properties of Dragonbone, and a few other things.” She sighed, “I wish Alistair would carry his father’s sword. The runes didn‘t seem special at the time, but…”

“NOT HAPPENING!” Alistair yelled from the hallway. “I AM NOT MY FATHER! AND I’M NOT EAVESDROPPING!”

“I DIDN’T SAY YOU WERE!” Elissa yelled back, grinning. She muttered to herself, “I knew he was listening.”

“Then drop it,” Alistair grumped, stomping in. “I wear my brother’s armor for parades. That’s quite enough family togetherness. The country shouldn’t need me to hit them all over the head with how much I look like Cailan and act like my father. I like Duncan’s sword. It’s a good sword. We‘ve long since moved past the stage in our relationship where you give me gifts I should like because they belonged to dear old Da. I nearly dumped you over some of those, oh-woman-crueler-than-any-dragon. Horrid thing to do to a bastard, giving him a book on his family genealogy. And when I actually looked at it later, it didn‘t say a damn thing about Calenhad having dragonblood! So what did they know, anyway?”

“But Duncan’s sword has nothing to do with the Cure,” Elissa sighed. “I often wish that I still carried my father’s sword, Alistair. Better weapons or not. Come on, though. While Dagna and Petri pack up with Sig and Nate, no doubt getting incredibly sidetracked along the way, we’re taking a field trip to a lake with Cole and Fiona. We’re going to act out whatever they did down there, and see if it means anything. Maker’s Mercy, it would be easier if I had been born a mage. Maybe then I could figure this bloody mess out without having to do historical reenactments with my mother in law,” she groused irritably.

“Better than doing them without your mother in law,” Alistair sassed.

Elissa swatted his butt. “Quiet, you. I‘m trying to save your bloody life.”

***

Fiona touched the moss on the walls in awe, long before they reached the chamber with the lake. “It’s influence has spread,” she muttered, “So much life, still spreading…”

“Like the verse Cole quoted, perhaps? Life begins anew?” Cullen managed, peering over the edge. “So… we have to go down there?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” the woman sighed. “I barely managed last time, and I had Maric to give me a hand.” She swatted Bull’s immediately proffered hand away. “I don’t need coddling, Bull.”

“Sorry, Ma’am. No offense meant.”

“Last time I was also wearing a long skirt. This armor is far more practical then chain mail combined with mage robes.” They slipped and slid down the walls, the eerie light glowing upward at their approach.

Elissa barked, eying the desiccated rocks and columns, “Oghren, it seems the lake is acidic. You are forbidden to drink it or try to brew anything from it.”

“Ancestors, I don’t try to drink every…”

“Don’t make me tattle on you to Felsi and Nugget. Your daughter‘s old enough to try to kick your ass. Might even manage, if she actually practices with any of the weapons you send her. How old were you when you took the Provings again?”

“Shit.” The warrior‘s red beard, only a little faded with age, drooped and swung as he jumped. “You ask about her relocation, yet?”

“Not yet,” Elissa hedged, glancing at Cullen. “I don’t want to take advantage of a new alliance, Oggie. And you know we‘d make room for her and your ‘spawn in the palace…”

“Nah, Felsi’d hate it there. She likes a smaller place. I can‘t keep her in comfort, I‘m gone too much. And sooner or later, you know and I know I‘m gonna drop dead…”

“Quit acting like you’re on death’s door, you’re younger than I am, in dwarf years,” grumbled Elissa. “You make me feel ancient. And you‘re almost two years behind me with your Joining.” She stroked the silver streak in her hair self-consciously, and Alistair reached forward to tuck the locks behind her ear.

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna see Nugget grow up, am I?” Oghren sniffled his way down two more small jumps.

“I’m sorry, already!” Elissa protested. “How many times are you going to manipulate me like this, Oghren? If you had only told me in the first place why you wanted to be a Warden, I wouldn’t have put you through the Joining at all! I was desperate but not that desperate. There’s only a small division of the Inquisition in South Reach. It is more remote than Amaranthine, though not by much, and further from Weisshaupt. But if you hadn’t bragged to Felsi about our mission before you left we wouldn’t be in this…”

“Puh-lease?” Now the semi-drunken dwarf was eyeballing Cullen with what looked like an attempt at puppy dog eyes. “Alistair claims that you’ve got kids too, Ser. Care about keeping them safe. Though with their mom being the Inquisitor I can’t imagine you worry much. Now there’s a woman with balls. I hear she dove right into the fucking Fade while chasing a dragon!”

Bull cackled, “I like this one, Cullen. Hey, Oghren, you ever try Maraas-Lok?” Oghren’s face lit up immediately.

“Can’t say I have!”

“Don’t try it, whatever he tells you,” Cullen ordered, even while he knew it was pointless, and then muttered, “I’ll see what I can do. Does your wife have an occupation?”

“Nah, she was a tavern girl when we met. Runs a boarding house in Amaranthine now, but we don’t own it.”

“I’ll ask my wife and sister if they know of anything.”

“She have you held by the short and curlies then? Best place to be, if you ask me.” They finally reached the bottom, the dwarf’s base humor getting more and more bawdy and Bull meeting him halfway every time until Alistair was groaning, Elissa was cackling like a witch of the wilds, and Cullen was almost praying for death to find him before he killed one of them himself. Of all the things that came out of this trip, they didn’t need for Bull to find a new drinking buddy.

Dorian would hate Oghren. Then again, it might make it worth it, to see him recoil in horror the first time the dwarf burped.

“So what do we have to do?” Elissa asked Fiona nervously. “There’s… not a lot of magic, right? Your story didn’t say you’d performed magic…”

“Well, first Maric quoted the Chant of Light,” Fiona twisted her hands. “Alistair, would you…”

“Um…” Alistair looked embarrassed, “I know the general idea and shape of the words…”

Cullen sighed, and began to declaim the verse about the abyss again, finishing abruptly.

“I sense no changes in the Veil,” Velanna summed up succinctly. “We should move on.”

“Well, Duncan was on the edge of that… rock there,” Fiona pointed. “The one that looks like the prow of a ship. He was sitting in the sludge, and his dark leathers were bleached green after he stood up.”

Cullen squinted, “I don’t know, it doesn’t really look like the prow of a ship to me. More like…”

Bull interrupted, “Nah, it’s a dreadnought all right! Look at it!”

“We should take a sample of the water,” Velanna mused, and took out a flask, and then another. “And also of the sludge, as you put it. And some scrapings from the rocks. It’s possible that the mineral component from the rocks combined with the acid from the liquid causes a chemical reaction that purifies…”

“You’ve been talking to Dagna too much, elf,” Oghren complained. “That girl’s even nuttier than she used to be. All that magic‘s addled her brain.”

“Every little bit helps,” Elissa stopped the argument. “Take the samples, Vel. As many as you need and a few extra. What else, Fiona?”

“Help me up?” Alistair took his mother’s hand, and helped her scramble, as she carefully made her way up to the top of the rock, carefully avoiding the messes. “I climbed to meet Duncan, but I didn’t touch any of that… goop.”

“What did you talk about?”

“We talked about how it was suicide to go running off on his own into the dark,” Fiona glanced at her son again wryly, “and he said it wasn’t so dark.”

There was a glow from the lake that responded to the words.

“What in a nug’s arse was that?!” Oghren shifted backwards.

“That was interesting,” Velanna mused. “Say it again.”

“It’s not so dark,” Fiona called out louder. The lake glowed again, and faded.

Cullen cleared his throat, “I’d like to try something.” He, just as carefully as Fiona, made his way to the top of the rock, noting the grittiness of it, like rock salt clumped beneath his gloves, and stood, and then closed his eyes.

“In the long hours of the night

When hope has abandoned me,

I still see the stars and know

Your Light remains.”

His eyes still shut, he heard them all gasp. “Keep going!” Fiona urged him. “This is… this is amazing.”

“I have heard the sound…” Cullen continued, keeping his eyes shut, working through the verses deliberately until…

“I am not alone. Even

As I stumble on the path

With my eyes closed, yet I see

The Light is here.

Draw your last breath, my friends,

Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.

Rest at the Maker’s right hand,

And be forgiven.”*

When he opened his eyes the lake was glowing more like a massive Eluvian than anything not a mirror had a right to.

“Well, that’s… that’s something,” Bull rumbled. “Anyone gonna take a swim?”

“Fuck no,” Elissa answered, her too-pale face lit up with bluish-green refracted light. “Not today, anyway.” Her hand reached out, fumbling for Alistair’s, a silent search for comfort that Cullen understood all too well. “I don’t… I don’t think that’s a cure, anyway. Not for the Blight.” She blew out a breath slowly. “How do we turn it off?”

“I don’t think we do,” Cullen mumbled. “I wish Asta was here. This is her sort of thing.”

“Then fucking pull out the crystal and talk to her,” Bull grumbled. “Shit, this sort of thing makes me fucking twitch. Lakes shouldn‘t fucking glow. Last lake that glowed spewed demons constantly.”

“Oh, right!” Cullen, flustered by his forgetfulness, pulled out the crystal, and activated it - the small red light swallowed with blue and appearing vaguely purple.

“Cullen?” His wife’s confused voice was happy. “I wasn’t expecting you for hours… let me make my excuses…”

“Sorry, Inquisitor, this is urgent.” He cleared his throat. “I think… I think we’ve found something. Something not the Cure.”

“It’s lit up like a Feastday lantern,” Oghren interrupted. “The whole damn lake.”

“A lake? A glowing lake?” Asta mumbled something to the people she was with, and Josie’s voice raised politely in understanding. “A lake in the Deep Roads? Is it a Wellspring?”

“I don’t think so,” Cullen admitted. “We’ve seen one of those. This… isn’t a lyrium mine. And I can’t hear it singing…” he stopped abruptly. “It’s completely quiet.”

“Only thing I hear is Deepstalkers,” Oghren muttered impatiently. “Don’t see ‘em though. Could use something to hit.”

Bull grunted in affirmation.

“Anyway,” Cullen continued, ignoring the interruption. “Whatever it’s made of, the walls are clear of the Blight entirely…”

“Maybe it is a cure, but for the land, not for people?” Fiona muttered. “But I didn’t touch it! And Duncan spoke, not me!”

“Purifies the Blight from all around it, but it glows like… like an Eluvian when I quoted Trials 1 at it. None of us are willing to test if it - goes somewhere.”

Everyone was silent for a minute. “Well, shit,” Asta said at last, impressed. “Have you tried Andraste?”

Cullen started to laugh. “Just a single stanza, but yes. Nothing happened. Are you saying you want me to sing the Chant of Light to a lake?”

“You’ve already started,” Asta pointed out reasonably. “And I’ll pack up the kids and be there in…”

“No you won’t,” Cullen chuckled. “The Deep Roads is no place to bring Pippa or Pup. The lake isn’t going anywhere. We’re marking it on the maps right now. It seems to… respond to allusions to light and darkness.” The lake flickered and dimmed abruptly. “And with that, it’s out.”

“Not Andraste, then,” Asta decided, “Transfigurations 10, perhaps? Something with a lot of Light imagery…”

Elissa, however, was packing up their things, looking at the lake warily. “Chant at the lake on your own time, Inquisitor. The cure we’re looking for isn’t here, even if this cavern is Blight resistant. And Velanna already has her samples.” She handed the pack to Alistair, and still limping, headed for the ledges. “This was probably a waste of time.”

“How is this a waste?” Asta argued through the crystal. “What you are describing is a wonder! It should be studied…”

“We’re running out of time!” Elissa’s voice broke. “I cannot afford to waste a single moment on wonders.” She took the dagger from her waist and pressed it into Alistair’s hand. “Here, Cheesy, just in case.” She hunched away quickly, already focusing on the next task, “We‘ll go see if we can find that runed basin next. Maybe that…”

“Elissa!” Alistair called after her, and hurried to catch up. He caught her, and there were anxious, worried mutters that none of them could hear, before she buried her face in his shoulder, his arms around her back, and hands stroking her above her armor and up under her hair, cupping the back of her neck and head.

“So…” Asta drawled, “I take it things aren’t going well?”

“I think she had her hopes up,” Bull grunted.

Velanna had hung back. “She’s had her hopes dashed for years,” the elf pointed out, a little less harshly than usual. “Every time she thinks she’s figured it out. And then I found Fiona’s account of her little trip at Weisshaupt, and all the tests they ran on her… trying to put her back through the Joining, even, but not only surviving, but being unable to be corrupted at all. The Warden Commander’s face when she read it - I‘ve never seen her look like that, before or since. Because it was _possible,_ not just to cure the Calling, but to cure the Blight itself. She stole the record and we left two days later, without telling Weisshaupt where we were going. Just the five of us, nobody she didn‘t trust. We stopped briefly at Denerim, to fill the King in, and then gone. We‘ve been looking ever since, and only found the Architect‘s stuff a couple of years ago. It‘s taken this long to figure out what he was trying to do, comparing it with Fiona and Duncan’s account.”

Asta was silent, but Cullen spoke, “How many times has she thought she’s close to a cure?”

“More times than I remember,” Velanna was harsh again. “We’ve been looking for a damn long time. We‘ve studied everything from Wilds Flowers to Silverite, with no success. All the flowers seem to do is improve the chance of surviving the Joining. Works better on Mabari than humans, according to a mage… friend at Soldier‘s Peak, but we intend to use it all the same.”

“What if… what if it’s a combination of factors?” Asta mused at last, her voice quiet through the crystal. “Remembering Pippa’s ritual, Cullen… the order of things is important in magic, isn’t it?” Her voice firmed, “Ask Alistair about what happened the night Kieran was conceived. I bet it’s important. Kieran isn’t tainted, either! Perhaps… perhaps they’re connected? If only Morrigan had stuck around long enough for us to ask her questions…”

Cullen groaned while Bull laughed, “I’m not going to ask his Majesty about how he conceived his illegitimate child, Asta.”

“Do it, or have Elissa do it,” Asta ordered. “I’ve got to get back to Teagan and Arl Bryland. They’re probably driving Josie insane.”  Her voice dropped away, before coming back, more gently.  "Please, Cullen... be careful?"

"I'll be home as soon as I can," he promised lowly.  Velanna snorted and moved away.  "I love you," he whispered.

"Love you, too," Asta's voice broke, and then she cleared her throat.  "Better get back.  I'll talk to you soon."

"Goodbye," Cullen managed, but the crystal had already deactivated.  Bull slapped his back.

"Least she doesn't cry when she's got to go," he rumbled.  "Dorian does, about half the time.  Goes all sniffly and angry about it.  Don't tell him I told you."

Cullen stared at the crystal for a moment before stowing it away safely in his armor and beginning the ascent.  He wasn't worried about Asta crying.

His own tears were a different matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trials 1 belongs to Bioware, as does the entire Chant of Light.
> 
> Regarding the song: this is one of those times I had to fight not to quote the entire lyrics. This is exactly what is going on in Alistair's head. Listen to it. Even if you don't usually care for my song inspirations!


	69. Two Pillows, at Sunset

Back at the Architect’s lair, the Warden threw herself into organization. “Oghren, you are going back with the Inquisition’s scholars to South Reach, as their armed guard. Nate, you, too. Behave yourself around Bryland, please. He is your uncle, even if he’ll never admit it. He can’t help your mother being an idiot. Try not to be an arse, and maybe he’ll unbend enough to admit your sister’s existence. That would make her life easier, right? Velanna, I need you and Fiona with me. Ser Cullen, I’d like permission to have Dagna travel with us - perhaps she can make out some of the Deep Roads inscriptions. That would help the Grey Wardens more than you know.” She was brisk and impersonal, professional, but underneath there was a jittery behavior that was off-putting.

“Elissa!” Alistair stopped her with a hand on her arm, “Slow down.”

“We don’t have time, Alistair,” her voice broke again. “We’ve already lived longer than we should have, thanks to Morrigan. I have to save you. I have…”

“Shhh,” he tilted his head towards her and they bumped foreheads. “You aren’t alone any more. If we don’t find a cure, neither of us will go back. Why do you think I’m here? You know I don’t want to be King without you.” He laughed, “I hardly wanted to be King with you.” He embraced her and Cullen turned away, trying not to miss Asta. “My home is with you, remember? Wherever we are.”

“All right,” he heard her whisper. “I’ll… slow down. A little, anyway.”

Cullen found Bull leaning up against the wall outside. “She done bugging out yet?”

“Not quite,” Cullen admitted. “Though if it were Asta on borrowed time, I would be…”

“You’d be frantic. Turning over every stone in the Deep Roads trying to find an answer. Which from the sound of things, is what the Warden Commander has been doing for fucking years,” Bull inserted. “So… you staying?”

Cullen’s heart twisted, “Officially, the Inquisition’s debt is filled. We have reunited the King with his wife. If neither of them choose to go back to Denerim, that isn’t our affair. I can go home…” he longed for it, to see Asta again, and the kids, in their house. To be out of the Deep Roads…

“I can tell when you‘re trying to talk yourself into being selfish. You’re staying,” Bull grunted. “Guess that means I’ll tell Dorian not to get too excited. I’ll stick around, too.”

“I will stay,” Cole was there by their elbows. “I think I can help. Fiona remembers, deep down, even when she doesn’t want to. And she wants him to live. For her. For them. For Maric. I can use the wanting to search, I think.” His eyes peered out from under his hair. “And you need me. I can help you, too.”

“Ser Cullen?” Dagna whirled around the corner and nearly ran into him. “I’m going, right? I mean, if I could cure the Blight, I could reverse red lyrium corruption! I’ve got lots of supplies with me all ready, and I’m pretty sure that I’ll need bigger samples from that lake, though maybe if I melt down the sludge in a crucible into its separate components I can make my own lake…” she laughed, “No, that’s just silly. Who needs a lake, when a vat would probably do? But never mind… I‘m going, right?! Plus, like, the Warden‘s even more amazing then I remembered. Who wouldn‘t want to travel with her?”

“Shit, good point,” Bull grumped. “We cure the Blight, and we can clean all the red lyrium out of everywhere.” He slapped Cullen’s shoulder. “Better break the news to the Boss, Cullen. You‘re not going to be home for a while.”

The conversation didn’t go well. “This wasn’t supposed to take longer than a couple of weeks.”

“The basin isn’t far, Fiona says,” Cullen answered, hand over his eyes, trying not to let too much emotion show in the tone of his voice. He had forgotten just how not private the Deep Roads were. “We’re running out of options, already, love. Sooner or later it will come back to the research at the house. Something about that cavern repelled the Blight, and they’re coming back with samples of it.”

He could hear her pouting, the anger in her voice barely restrained. “Cullen… you’ve done our part! Let Dagna stay, if she wants to, but…”

“Inquisitor,” he began.

“Don’t ‘Inquisitor’ me! Not unless you want me to order you to come home!” Her voice halted.

“What happened today?” Cullen asked quietly, stifling his desire to tell her to do exactly that. It wasn’t like her to be quite this demanding.

“Ian has his first cold,” she admitted. “He’s been clingy and fussy, I haven’t slept in what feels like days, and I’m exhausted. Despite Josie and Lady Cerastes and everyone helping out, he only wants _me_. And on top of that, Pippa managed to somehow explode an oil lamp at Mia’s while trying to light it with magic, and I had to soothe her… and Mia… and two of Mia‘s customers. Luckily there was no fire, just a few scorch marks and broken glass… and no one was hurt. On top of that Josie is… off somehow. Not herself. I asked what was wrong and she gave me this professional spiel about the pressures of her position. She was lying through her teeth. She‘s never lied to me before… and then Sera decided that everyone needed cheering up and somehow let several squirrels - who should be hibernating! - into the kennels. The dogs went wild, fur flew everywhere, and Hermes is furious because his prize hounds are now off their carefully controlled diet.”

“You’ve had a terrible day,” Cullen sympathized, his mouth twitching at the last.

“More like week. And it wasn’t that bad,” Asta admitted after a moment. “It just seems that way, with you gone, on top of everything. I… work more efficiently when you‘re here, and not just because you share the care of the kids. And now for you to say you aren’t coming back…”

Cullen laughed, “Oh, I’m coming back. I still have to finish putting up the wainscoting. Have you even known me to leave a job half-finished?”

Asta was quiet, “It shouldn’t comfort me so much that I can answer that question with a ‘no’.”

“Still, it’s a no,” Cullen teased gently.

Asta sighed, “All right. Stay. But next time we all go together, or not at all.”

“Look what happened the last time we swore ‘Never again,’ love,” Cullen sighed in turn, exhausted.

“You sound tired, too.”

“It’s the Deep Roads,” Cullen groaned. “It’s awful. Cole helps, though. Oddly, I’m not dreaming much… it’s more that I forget to sleep, with the light not changing.”

“You should rest then.”

“Not until I know that you’re all right.”

“I’m fine. I feel better having it all off my chest. Sleep now, so that the Warden Commander doesn’t exhaust you tomorrow. I love you. So much.”

Cullen traced the side of the crystal as if it was her face. “I love you, too.” He closed his eyes. “I can see you smiling at me.”

“Can you now?” He could hear the smile in her voice now, and he pictured it, the sideways slide of the apples of her cheeks and the twinkle in her eyes suggesting mischief even when she was outwardly behaving herself.

“Mm-hmm. I’m going to fall asleep with that picture in my mind. Do you mind?”

“Course not. I might be falling asleep pretending a pillow is your chest. Do you mind?”

“Only to be jealous of the pillow,” Cullen laughed. “Tell it its days are numbered. I’ll defend my honor and place in the bed as soon as I get back.”

“All right then. I’ll have Josie set up the duel arrangements. Two pillows, at sunset. Our bedchamber. In, say, two weeks?”

“Perfect.”

***

“You should bring the Boss a present,” Bull grunted at him the next day.

“What? Where am I going to find a present down here?!” Cullen grumped. “We’re not in bloody Orzamaar or Val Royeaux.”

“We pick up random crap all the time. Half the Inquisition has Halla statues we found at Halamshiral. And nobody brings the Boss anything. Find some halfway pretty amulet or something, and give it to her. I got Dorian a pair of ruby earrings off a dead bandit once. He nearly cried, he was so happy. Wears ‘em all the time.”

“I don’t think Asta would appreciate gifts off dead people.”

“Maybe it’s a necromancer thing,” Bull admitted. “Still… present. Smoothes the late homecoming. Plus, you know, Satinalia… isn‘t that a thing in South Reach? Dorian freaks out if I forget major holidays, even though I never fucking celebrated them until I went to Orlais.”

“Oh,” Cullen stopped walking. “I forgot. We’ve never really exchanged…”

“Ought to,” Bull stretched wide, twisting his neck and torso. “The kids need that stuff. Pup’s a bit small, but Pippa’s probably hearing about it from every kid in the village. First Satinalia with her family is a big deal. And it’s Pup’s too. Bet Josie is making up costumes right now - they do that in Antiva and Tevinter, don‘t they? She’s not going to let it slide just because she’s in Ferelden. She turned Skyhold into a tangled mess of Thedosian traditions trying to get a little bit of everybody‘s traditions in the mix, and she’s already managed to get herself put on the planning committee for the festival. Bet she makes Ian a Mabari.”

Cullen laughed, “And Pippa a horse?” His stomach clenched with wanting to see his children’s first Satinalia festival. It was still a few weeks away…

“Maybe…” Bull mused and then shrugged, “Oh well, you can always claim that all those books that were the Architect’s are her present. She’s gonna be fucking busy sorting those out. Good thing you left space.”

***

After they finished packing, this time everyone participating, they sent a copy of the map, with the hole clearly mapped, back to the entrance, turning off in the other direction before they got there, to make their way back towards, what the Warden claimed, should be Ortan Thaig. “I’ve been there,” she told them bluntly. “So I won’t need guidance, unless there’s been more earthquakes and cave-ins.”

Cole whimpered, “He waited in the dark,” but didn’t explain.

“The cause of the earthquakes should be sorted,” Cullen argued instantly, defending Asta’s honor.

“Good,” she sighed, and kicked a loose rock, watching Alistair, walking ahead by his mother. She dropped her voice. “Look, I’m… sorry, about all that back there. He’s just… _dying_ , you know? I want him to _live_. I don’t particularly care about my own cure, except that it matters to him. I have a hard time trusting magic to solve anything. And I don’t know how not to get what I want, turning me into a spoiled brat when things go wrong. But I don’t have the right to order any of you around. So, thanks for sticking around, I guess, Ser Cullen, despite my little temper tantrums. I appreciate it.” She was still managing to find the same stray rock amongst all the rubble, making a strange game out of it.

“You can drop the Ser, Your Majesty,” Cullen countered, eyes straight ahead. “I owe you a debt. You saved my life back in Kinloch, as well as many other people’s, all of which turned out to be lives worth saving. If I can offer the same to you, I will do so. This isn‘t about the Inquisition. It‘s personal. I have a wonderful life, because you offered mercy.”

The Warden Commander changed the subject abruptly, “Alistair says you have children? With the Inquisitor.”

“That’s right.”

“And that one of them is a mage?” She sounded tentative, and he wished he didn’t understand why.

“Yes. Our daughter. Pippa.” Cullen rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension under his pack. “Technically, she’s my wife’s niece. But we‘re her parents, all the same. Our son‘s just a baby.”

“You’re very lucky,” if her voice was wistful, he knew it was better not to mention it.

“I am, Your Majesty. And I owe it to you. You spared my life, and stopped the annulment. If you had listened, back then… it would have been a horrible mistake. I can see that now.”

He could feel the surprise roll off her. “Thank you.”

“For what, Your Majesty?”

“Elissa, please. For telling me I made the right choice. I don’t… get that very often, in my line of work.” She swallowed. “I’ve never had it from any other survivor of the Blight, for all of everyone calling me the Hero of Ferelden. Not even once. And to hear that from you, of all people…”

“I’m trying to move past that time in my life.”

And with that, she laughed, “So am I. A little hard to leave the Blight behind, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea. Quitting lyrium was the absolute worst.”

“Shit, you don’t do things by halves, do you?!” She laughed again, impressed.

“All or nothing… Elissa,” he inclined his head, wryly.

She slapped his back. “I think I’ll like you, Cullen. Who would have thought?” She pursed her lips. “You would make a wonderful Warden. Just the sort we‘re looking for. Upstanding, with a moral compass.”

“On that we will have to agree to disagree,” Cullen began, slightly alarmed.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not Conscripting these days. Last time I did it we ended up with Anders. Look what happened there. Or was it Nate? Either way, the argument stands. I don‘t like recruiting people that don‘t want to be here.”

They both managed a weak laugh, one with far less humor in it. “Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but why did you let Anders go?”

“I didn’t _let_ anything. I was told to report to Weisshaupt, and that I was being relieved of duty locally. Some thug of a Warden moved in, got rid of Ser Pounce-a-lot, and when I got back, Anders was gone in a blaze of Justice with most of our maps of the Deep Roads, and the thug was blaming me for the whole thing! I could have told him that the cat was the only thing Anders actually cared about. It wasn’t worthwhile to go hunting him down afterward. I had things to do! And after the Architect‘s plans came to light… I wished him well.” She looked down. “I even envied him, before Kirkwall happened, living free the way he was. Making a difference doing something only he could do. My life has been locked into course since Duncan recruited me. Marrying Alistair is about the only thing I chose for myself, and I haven‘t had enough time with him to let me take that for granted. But in many ways, Kirkwall was my fault, because I figured Anders was better off away from the Warden’s mess.” Cullen chuckled then. “What’s so funny?” A smile was playing around the edges of her mouth, deepening the lines already there.

“My Lady Warden, everyone I know blames themselves for Kirkwall. Me, Varric Tethras, the Champion, the Prince of Starkhaven… even my wife is convinced she could have prevented the Arishok‘s attempted takeover if she had just killed a certain Sister when she first realized what the woman was up to.”

Bull grunted from behind them, “I don’t. I was in Orlais. Koslun’s Ass, even then I could see the Arishok was a damn fool. If it‘s anyone‘s fault it was his. He went out in a blaze of stupid.”

“Minus one, then,” Cullen smirked at Bull. “The truth is, years later, it’s obvious to me that there was no one responsible. Not you, for Justice and Anders plotting with each other - what control did you have over that? Definitely not them using their friends as unwitting accomplices, or even me, wrapped up in prejudice and blindness and fear and making everything worse because I wasn‘t doing my job the way it was meant to be done. Meredith and Orsino set up the finale, but even they were influenced by the thin Veil of the city, and the red lyrium Varric brought back from the Deep Roads. The whole thing was just complicated further by the Arishok. No one was innocent, but neither was anyone at fault. It was… it was…”

“Asit tal-eb,” Bull grunted. “It is to be.”

“Exactly,” Cullen finished. “Inevitable. Futile. My wife is fond of informing me that it is what we choose to do now that matters. Not what happened in the past. Time magic doesn’t work.”

Alistair sniffled. “That’s lovely, Ser Cullen. I‘m touched. Your words move me.”

“Shut it, Your Majesty.” Cullen flushed in embarrassment. He hadn’t given such a long lecture since Haven.

“Oh, he’s wonderful, talks back even while remembering the honorific,” Alistair immediately chuckled. “Elissa, permission to make friends?” He batted his eyelashes at her, and she shoved him and then pulled him back in next to her. “Maybe I should reward his loyal service with a medal or something… Ooh, I could make you nobility! There‘s always a Bannorn needing a Bann!”

“Maker, please, no,” Cullen blanched. “My family would never let me live it down. And the Inquisition should remain independent…”

Alistair pouted, “Puh-lease?”

“No,” Cullen clenched his teeth.

“You try to do something nice…” Alistair tutted, and hummed, “I’ll figure out a medal then. Perhaps something with Mabari… oh! I wanted to ask you about whether your pups are spoken for! Your kennels are amazing! I’ve never seen such efficiency! Unfortunately your Kennelmaster wasn’t interested in working for me. But sleeping’s not the same without Ser Wulfred stealing half the bed… he gave me an excuse to cuddle up next to her…”

“Alistair, don’t…” Elissa flushed. “Wulfy can‘t be replaced, Cullen. He was with me since I was a child, Alistair, bonding with a Mabari isn’t that simple…”

“But we could finally name one Barkspawn!”

Bull grunted, and grinned, “Damn, that’s a good name. Wish I had thought of it. I went with Ma‘am.”

The King of Ferelden beamed at him. “See? The scary vashoth merc thinks it’s a good idea!” He stopped, dismayed, “Wait… you have a Mabari?!”

“Yup.”

“And you named her Ma’am? All the words in Qunari about weapons and killing…’”

“Ma’am’s not a mindless weapon. She’s a lady, and deserves respect. She can kill if she has to, even likes to do it, but it doesn‘t define who she is.”

Alistair worked his mouth slowly, “Well, that’s a very good point.”

Cullen managed to keep his mouth shut against the temptation of pointing out to Bull that he could say the same thing about himself.

“We’re here,” Fiona said, breaking up the impending argument over appropriate Mabari names by stopping dead in her tracks. “We’re here.” 


	70. One Public Display of Affection, Coming Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't call this NSFW at all, but since the whole chapter is about sex, I'm putting it out there.
> 
> It is actually important to plot. As such things sometimes are.

“This is it,“ Fiona spoke again, and reached out a hand and touched a piece of rubble, looking paler than usual. Cole was immediately by her side, concerned and muttering. “This is the spot, I know it was. There‘s an old Legion of the Dead outpost up ahead, with a magical dweomer rune basin…”

“The spot where Alistair was conceived?” Elissa popped up her head and looked around, instantly interested. Her husband groaned.

“Not the first possibility, but… perhaps?” Her ears were red at the tips.

“Really, Mother? In the middle of the Deep Roads, you and the King… more than once?!”

Elissa nudged him, “Shush. It’s not as if we weren’t doing the same thing our first time in the Deep Roads. I think it’s sweet. Like you‘ve come full circle.” She pecked his cheek.

Alistair sputtered, “It’s not the same! We weren‘t…” Elissa pinned him with a look. “Yes, well, I suppose it‘s no different after all, my dear.”

“Look for the chamber,” Fiona instructed. “Even after all these years, there should be something…”

“Tipped, the water drains, soaking cold into bare skin unnoticed, as he traces hot fingers over the darkness you didn‘t want to see. ‘Maker, you’re lovely.’ Laying you down, kisses fire hot, you just want to feel again, something better, something good…”

“Cole!” Alistair covered his ears, “Lalala, I can‘t hear you…”

Elissa leaned in towards the man and Fiona, her face avid with interest. “Was Maric as… you know… because Alistair is…” Fiona made an involuntary noise of embarrassment, but her eyes were twinkling. Elissa straightened, “I knew it. It’s genetic. It had to be.”

Cole frowned in confusion, and pointed, “It’s over there.”

Everyone except Alistair hurried across, finding a narrow path between the rubble, and Dagna nearly crowed with delight. “I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid!” She righted the basin and pedestal. “It’s cracked, but it should still work!” She tested it, and crowed in delight when the basin began to fill. Leaning sideways to see out of the room, she called, “Hey! Your Majesty! Time to strip!”

“NO!” Alistair was staring at the opposite wall. “I… I refuse to go into that room at all.”

“Don’t be a child,” rumbled Bull.

“My siblings and I were all conceived in the same house,” Cullen mentioned idly. “I’m certain we were comfortable in every single room.”

“A house is expected…” hissed Alistair. “A storage room in the Deep Roads is a completely different matter.”

“You still have the dagger?” Fiona called to him, unwilling to approach given his reluctance. “You need to bathe and…”

Elissa threw her shoulders back, her jaw firm, marched out, and turned her husband around by the shoulders towards the small room. “Look, Cheesy. My quest is to cure you. Top of the list, here, and has been for bloody _years_. If that means that you strip, and I strip, and we both do it with everyone fucking watching then… shut your eyes and pretend we‘re alone.”

“No thanks!” Dagna left the room, “Sera would never understand, even if it _is_ the Warden…”

“Maker’s Breath…” Cullen spun around, face red. “Surely that won’t be necessary?”

“Hot DAMN!” Bull jumped. “Now that’s my kind of magic!”

“No audience is necessary!” Fiona protested over the rest of the protests. “Duncan… kept watch.” She was miserably red now. Cullen wasn’t sure he had ever seen such an unhappy woman. Cole was speaking faster than Cullen had ever heard him, words falling like water droplets. “You have the amulet?”

“I really don’t want to think about Duncan being present at my conception,” Alistair muttered. “And Elissa… don’t you _dare_ start blabbing about father figures.”

“I didn’t have the dagger when…” Fiona sighed. “But given its properties it probably doesn’t matter.” Her ears drooped. “I’ll… be considerably far away. Ignoring that this is happening.”

Alistair brightened slightly. “I don’t suppose everyone could just cover their ears and hum to themselves or something?”

Cullen dragged Bull through the door. “Go talk to Dorian.” He handed him the crystal. “Now. And don’t you dare tell him what they’re… doing in there.”

Bull shuffled off dejectedly, and after a while he heard him laughing. He moved further away from the affectionate noises coming from the room, knowing he didn’t want to know.

Velanna stood against a far wall, still silent, inspecting the crystal in her staff. “What are you looking at, Templar shem?”

“Nothing, my lady Warden. And I‘m not a Templar any longer.”

She snorted, “I’m not a Warden. Just a clanless First who got caught up in a mess after the Blight and didn’t have anywhere else to go. Elissa let me hang around.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I don’t need a shemlen’s pity. And it’s been years.” She paused, “She never put me through the Joining, but never asked me to leave. It took me years to figure out that she wanted me to feel like I had a choice, to stay or go.”

“She’s wiser than the stories give her credit for, isn’t she?”

She smiled, “In mine, she gets all the credit. She just doesn’t know it yet. Someday, maybe, the world will get to read them.”

Cullen hesitated, “You know, my wife knows several people at the University of Orlais. They’re accepting elven students…”

Velanna recoiled, “Why would I want to go to a shem school?”

“They publish, too,” Cullen muttered, flushing in embarrassment. “Just thought, perhaps…”

“Oh,” she frowned. “I don’t think so. But… that’s an idea.” She weighed him thoughtfully, and Cullen wandered off, to try to get some rest.

It took several hours before the couple emerged, Alistair glowing pink with cleanliness and chill, embarrassment and something else, sporting a smug satisfied smile. He gave Bull a very wide berth when the vashoth took a big sniff and shuddered. “Dragonblood and sex. Hot. Fucking. Damn.” He finished with a long muttering in Qunari that went on for ages, with feeling.

Cullen caught two words in the whole mix. ‘Pleasure’ and ‘Ataashi‘. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear the rest given the context and source.

Elissa came out of the room, just as flushed, just as clean, swatting Alistair and making him yelp before he tugged her back in to kiss her softly, after making a token resistance about their audience. She let him go find his gear, grinning at the larger warrior, while she kicked back up against the wall, one knee bent. “You know, my buddy the Arishok claimed the Qun didn’t have sex with its friends. But I hear through the grapevine that you and your ‘Kadan‘ do just that.” For the time being, she seemed less rushed, as if the matter was less urgent.

“That‘s right,” Bull smiled wide. “But I’m Tal-Vashoth now.” He flicked the dragon tooth around his neck. “And fucking married. To the hottest mage on the continent.” The first might have been grudging, but the third was bragging.

“Married, huh? Didn’t think you did that either. Tal-Vashoth or not. And to a mage?” Elissa raised an eyebrow. “You mentioned a drink to Oghren… Maraas-Lok? Sten talked about it once. I‘d love to try it sometime.”

Bull grabbed Cullen’s shoulder, hissing urgently, “Cullen?”

“Yes, Bull?”

“Tell me she’s not hitting on me. Cause she’s not, right? But if she is… I‘m not sure I can pass that up.”

“She’s not hitting on you, Bull. She just wants to have a drink, and talk about the Arishok.”

“Shit. But that’s good. Very good. Dorian won‘t be mad if I say yes to that. I don‘t want Dorian to be mad.” A little louder he asked, “So… did it work?”

“No clue,” Elissa shrugged and smiled even wider, her eyes sparking with amusement. “But this was a better excuse to make the whole party stop so that I can have sex with the husband I haven’t seen in fucking years than most of them, right? We haven‘t had enough breaks yet, this trip. The last time we were in the Deep Roads together we were ducking behind every promising outcrop to suck faces and grind…”

“ELISSA!” Alistair’s voice broke, “Stop exchanging personal stories with the nice man!”

“All right, keep your shirt on,” Elissa sniggered with a wink. “Later, Bull.”

“See ya, Warden,” the last was said in a tone of great respect. “Now there goes a Basalit-an.” His eye followed her and her husband. “Wish I hadn’t wasted my ‘if so and so ever asks for sex’ on Cassandra now. Cause, fuck, the Warden… and shit, her husband…” he moaned and shook as if settling feathers in place like a duck after a swim.

“Bull, do you realize that when you get aroused you sound more Qunari?” Cullen made his way into the room, to use the water to smooth down his hair, and ignoring the puddles on purpose. It was best not to think about it. Bull followed him in.

“Yeah, but doesn‘t everybody? I mean, when _you_ really get into it, I notice that you tend to drop the educated ‘Chantry boy’ phrasing, your Ferelden accent gets thicker, and you start trying to drop and add ‘H‘s‘, so its probably something unconscious that happens when you relax…”

Cullen sputtered through the water. “What… when have you heard…”

“Oh, Koslun’s Ass, Cullen. Every time for fucking years. Qunari are bred for excellent hearing. You can really make her scream.” He nudged him. “Good on you.” He paused, “Hey, next kid… I don’t suppose you could name him after me, would ya?”

“I’m not sure there’s going to be another… Asta‘s pretty grumpy about being left behind.”

“Just saying,” Bull grinned, hands in the air. “There’s got to be a version of ‘Bull’ or ‘Iron’ that would sound good, right? Dorian‘s still bragging about Ian… or you could always just let me name ‘em…”

“I’m promising nothing,” Cullen sighed. “You have no idea how much trouble I got in over Ian’s name.”

They reconvened in the main passage, the small alcove too narrow for everyone to fit. “So that’s it, then,” Elissa seemed stern, crisp and business-like, but her neck was still flushed, with several darkening spots that weren’t corruption, and she was smiling at her husband as she consulted the experts. “We’ve covered all the bases?”

“I believe so, yes. Those that we can account for, anyway.” Fiona was drooping again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful, Your Majesty.”

Elissa started, “Fiona… I’m your daughter in law. Not your sovereign. Please call me Elissa.” She paused and, blowing out a breath, as if she was unused to being gentle, consoled, “I know I seem… brusque, but it’s just because I’m worried.”

“It was probably the dagger, or perhaps the dagger and the amulet all along, in any case. Or even the combination of the three, since the rune on the water basin is designed to increase spell resistance,” muttered the mage. She paused, but continued, in a rush, “Your Maj - Elissa, if I could take the Blight back onto myself, and spare him, I would. If it comes to that… I… I would like to offer…”

Alistair stared at her, his eyes watering.

Elissa reached out and touched her shoulder. Her sleeve fell back, still unbuttoned at the cuff from dressing, and for the first time, Cullen saw the small stars of corruption on them, threading like dark spider webs on her skin. “We both would. I know.” She dropped her hand then, and it was hidden. “So, we head back to the surface and then…”

“And then, if we’re still reenacting everything that happened, we go to Kinloch Hold.” Fiona summed up. Cullen’s breath caught in his throat.

“Shit. Cullen?” Bull’s voice was deep, but he could barely hear it. “…don’t look so good…”

“I… I don’t think I…” For the first time since he had come down to the Deep Roads, the walls seemed to close in, and the world shifted sideways.

A red flash went off next to him, and he vaguely realized that Bull had activated the crystal.

Cole was next to him, talking soothingly, but he couldn’t hear, couldn’t move. But then it was his wife’s voice cutting through the buzz in his own head. “Cullen? Cullen, you don’t have to say anything, but nod for Cole if you can hear me.” He managed, just. “Good, love. Love, where are you? Don’t say it out loud, if you can’t, but think it. Think it hard.”

His wife’s voice didn’t fit here. He tried to Dispel his prison, again and again, to get out, to save her, to prevent… it didn’t work. His heart raced, thrumming in his ears.

“Caught between stone and magic walls. Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, too close. The cold circle of metal held tight in my glove. ’Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow, in their blood‘…” Cole’s litany went on and on.

“Shit, he’s back at Kinloch, before we freed him… Alistair Theirin, why didn’t you warn me?” Elissa was nearly crying. “He could have gone home with the others… you of all people should recognize trauma…”

“I didn’t know,” Alistair sounded genuinely regretful. “I didn’t know.”

“Cullen, where are you now? Right now? Just breathe, Ser Knight.”

Ser Knight. That unlocked something that unraveled a single thread slowly. He followed it, clutching to it like a lifeline to the present.

“Roads?” he croaked after a long minute.

“That’s right,” his Asta was crying. That wasn’t all right. “That’s right, good, love. You’re in the Roads, but you’re coming home now. Home to me, and Ian and…”

“Pippa?” he mumbled, his heart racing. Had something happened? Was Pippa… his mind stuttered. No… if Pippa had fallen to Uldred and his blood mages… he couldn’t lose…

“And Pippa, of course. We‘re all fine. We‘re still back in South Reach, waiting for you to come home,” His Asta shouldn’t be crying. He didn’t want to make her cry. “Breathe, love, I’m here. I’m here if you need me.”

He fought against his own breath, listening to her talk, gentle words of reassurance enveloping him like a hug. Her words penetrated. Deep Roads. South Reach. Not Kinloch.

“Love you,” he muttered, and then flushed a bit, realizing he was surrounded by people.

“I love you, too,” and now she was laughing. That was better. Asta should laugh. “Can Bull help sit you up?”

“Yes,” Cullen managed, and tried to push against the floor. How had he ended up… he was weaker than he should be. His veins buzzed with the lingering traces of attempting to use his former Templar skills. Had he… that would explain it. He had tried again and again to dispel the trap they had laid for him, until he was prone with exhaustion.

“He’s fine,” Fiona shut her eyes in relief, and he realized she was holding his wrist with a shaking hand. “Heartbeat slowing, and his eyes are dilating properly again…”

“That’s it, Cullen,” Asta soothed.

“I can’t go there,” he breathed out, and back in, slower than his body wanted him to, but still too quickly.

“Nobody’s asking that, love,” she assured him. “They can handle it on their own, I think. Or I’ll have Dorian meet them…”

“Good,” he huffed. “Need mages. Don’t need a Templar.” Slowly his vision cleared, and he stared at the crystal in front of him. “Maker‘s Breath, I wish you were really here.”

“Me, too,” Asta laughed again. “Though if you were here instead, you would have witnessed Ian upending his bowl of porridge on his very bald head this morning. Dorian was disgusted, but Josie and Pippa and I laughed our heads off. I rather gave up trying to feed him after that mess. He certainly knows how to make his disinterest known.”

He laughed, “Is he there? Can I talk to him? Or Pippa?”

The others started to drift away. “I can get Ian, just a moment… Pippa is studying, and I‘ve been told I cannot disturb her concentration for anything less than a emergency.” He heard doors open, and shut, and a surprised Lady Cerastes’ reluctant voice handing over her charge. A little voice said, “Ba!”

“No, Da,” Asta corrected. “Da, Da, Da…” she stopped. “Sh…oot, I was trying to get him to say it as a surprise. But no, it’s all B’s. Sera says he has taste. I caught her trying to paint some on his walls yesterday. His room looked like an undead apiary. I made her paint back over them so he wouldn‘t have nightmares. Cole was right - Sera should never paint. It turned out bad.”

Cullen laughed again, and it was almost normal except for the hitch in his voice. “I’ll be home in a few days, I think. Maybe a week. Try to get Ian to save it for then?”

Asta giggled, “Trust me, once he talks, there’ll be no stopping him. Plenty of time for you to hear him.”

Cullen reached out and picked up the crystal. “Hey, Pup.” The burbling intensified. “Porridge goes in your head, not on it, wee man.”

“Don’t hit,” Asta instructed, somewhat muffled. “Sorry, he’s getting grabby and frustrated that I won‘t give it to him. Da’s on the other side, Pup.”

“Nor are bowls a suitable helm,” Cullen breathed, still catching his breath, and trying to focus. “We’ll work on that. If you want.” He rolled his neck. “I’m… all right, now, love.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “The sooner we leave the sooner I never have to come back.”

“That sounds awfully familiar, Cullen.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Maker willing, won’t ever have to come back, then.”

“Better,” he could hear the wistful smile in her voice. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodnight, love.”

She giggled, but gently, “It’s the middle of the morning. You’re all off kilter. But Good Morning, Cullen. We‘ll see you soon.”

 


	71. A Homecoming

The moment they broke out of the Deep Roads was a rebirth. The cold air, with snow feebly attempting to fall from the dark grey sky tasted like freedom and life. Cullen marched out into it with scarcely a pause, hoping to put distance between himself and the darkness. “Leaving without saying goodbye?” His monarch prompted him, and he paused, shutting his eyes, and counting to ten before he replied.

“I have no reason to stay,” Cullen began.

“Still,” Alistair sighed, disappointed, “I thought we bonded in the Deep Roads.” He pouted, absurdly, and Cullen clenched his teeth, and then laughed, unable to keep up his bad temper under the airy midmorning sky. “They tend to make or break relationships… just ask Oghren!”

“Or don’t,” his wife muttered. “And don’t mention Branka in front of Felsi, Alistair. You know she’s sensitive about the whole ‘you used to be married to a Paragon, but I’m your wife now’ thing.”

“No mentioning Paragons of questionable sanity, got it!” Alistair chirped, but continued, more soberly, “So… Teagan’s still back at South Reach. Do you mind if we… you know… drop by after our little detour? I promise we’ll take him back with us…”

“Assuming any of this works,” the Queen muttered. “We should move on. We’re wasting daylight,” she was squinting as if the light was painful. “Maker, I don’t remember the surface being quite this… open. Maybe we could camp now, and travel at night?”

Fiona wrinkled her forehead in worry, but said nothing.

“A few hours of sleep wouldn’t do any of us any harm,” Cullen admitted, even though his feet itched to move on.

“Nah,” Bull came to his rescue. “Let’s keep going. We’ll see you when we see you. But Dorian’s promised me a reward if I get home before Satinalia. I figure I’ve only got a week, if we aren’t too off track. And with no horses on the way back, we got to get moving. And it’s fucking cold,” he complained. “I don’t want to spend another minute longer than I have to freezing my ass off. Cole, you coming or staying?”

“I am coming,” the man said seriously.

“I didn’t even realize it was cold,” The Warden Commander squinted dubiously. “We will see you in a few weeks, probably. Velanna and Dagna want to try a few extra things… they might take a while. But I’ll send someone to let you know. Sigrun, probably. She’s the fastest runner.” At Cullen’s raised eyebrows she grinned. “Long legs aren’t everything. Sig runs like a deepstalker.”

“Adequate warning is appreciated,” Cullen sighed.

“Have a blessed Satinalia,” Elissa muttered, as if the words felt wrong. She frowned, “Maker, Cheesy, it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Our first Satinalia together in over five years,” Alistair’s shoulders relaxed. “I know what I want…” he winked and she laughed at him.

“I bet you didn’t want to spend it at Kinloch, though.”

“The where doesn’t matter,” he grew very serious. “Where doesn’t matter at all.”

“And… you’d better leave before Cheesy gets sappy,” Elissa flushed, and Alistair wrapped his arm around her. “Truly, we thank you.”

“Blessed Satinalia,” Cullen stated in farewell, and they turned towards the road East, while the rest of the group turned North.

***

Cole, Bull and Cullen crested the hill before South Reach five days later. “We’re too early,” Cullen said wistfully, staring at his house just below. “No one is expecting us.” A small figure bolted out the front door and stared, and jumped, and ran back inside.

Cole smiled, “Dinner is still hot. Someone‘s coming.”

A small Pippa ran out at full speed leaving the door wide open, pulling on a thick coat, boots flopping around her ankles, her breath streaming from her mouth like smoke from a dragon as she threw herself at him, nearly knocking him over. “DA! You’re home!” She laughed and he swung her wide in a circle. “Did it work? Did you find it?”

“We don’t know,” he laughed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wife stumbling out, stamping her feet into boots, trying to wrap Ian up in her cloak, and the baby shoving it out of his face. She made a face at Ian, and then climbed the hill, the wind whipping the garment wide. He dropped Pippa and met Asta halfway down the hill, clutching her tight, her face buried in his own neck. “Maker, I missed you.”

Ian protested, squirming, and they both backed off a little, though just far enough for Cullen to slide his hand around the back of her head and kiss her, fingers sinking beneath her tousled hair.

Cole started murmuring, “Kisses taste like snowflakes - cool and melting on my tongue. If we don’t get inside, and the kids to bed I’m going to jump him and not even care. How can his hands be so warm? Maker, it‘s been too long…”

Cullen tried to pull back at that, but Asta fisted her fingers in his hair and held him still, their mouths moving over each other slower, and slower until she finally let go, and they were left panting against each other. “I wasn’t done,” she smirked up at his eyes. “You keep kissing me and… stop just when I‘m getting going. You’ve been doing it since Skyhold. Knock it off.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he laughed, and kissed her one more time. Bull grunted in approval and wandered off to find Dorian.

“I’m going to find Maryden. I think she‘s at the tavern,” Cole sounded very happy. “I need her to explain a few things. She’s very good at explaining. Goodbye, Asta. I will see you soon.”

Asta looked after his loping form, “Should I be worried?”

“Probably. Once Bull realized Alistair was dragonblooded his internal monologue was rather… colorful.” Cullen shook his head. “Not your problem, love.” He whispered, “I’ll tell you the details, later. Without… little ears.” Pippa snorted.

“That had better be a promise, Ser Knight,” Asta laughed. “Come on, we saved dinner.”

“Supper, Mum. We don’t live in a palace, Aunt Mia says.”

“In my family, we always called it dinner,” Asta said primly.

“Did you live in a palace?”

“No, an estate. And then the Chantry. It was still dinner in the Chantry.”

“Does it really matter what we call it?” Cullen started, seeking to keep peace on his first night home.

“In polite society, yes,” Asta laughed. “Josie’s etiquette lessons are moving to the next level. I’m supposed to be setting a good example. Apparently, my manners have been slipping since our move.” She winked. “I used my knife to scoop peas yesterday. She nearly passed out with horror.”

“How dare you be so uncouth.” Cullen stated dryly. “Remind me to avoid eating peas around our Lady Ambassador.” He spun Pippa around in a tight circle, making her coat bell out. He wrapped his other arm around Asta’s back, and pulled her in, tight, unwilling to let either of them go for a single second.

“Maker, Bless all in this House,” he muttered as he stepped across the threshold, and then paused, realizing that he hadn‘t remembered doing that before. “My Da always said that, I think.”

Asta looked thoughtful. “You know, today, I think the Maker just might listen. Must not be a Tuesday.” She shrugged, and smiled. “Come on. Out of your things… Well, some of your things. Save the rest for later, hmmm?” She winked again.

“I hope that’s a promise,” he murmured, and kissed her again, over Ian’s head.

“I keep my promises,” Asta stretched her hand over his chest. “Come on, eat first. Me later.” Cullen worked himself out of his damp coat and hung it up to dry, smiling at his wife in what he was aware was a completely besotted fashion.

Ian took his fingers out of his mouth and very clearly said, “DA!” The baby giggled, hiding his face against his mother. “Who’s the clever Pup, then?” Cullen lifted him away from his mother and tickled him, his little legs kicking out and hitting him in the still armored chest. “Oh no, Inquisitor, the Pup got me!” He staggered back, still cradling Ian in his arm.

“Da!” The baby laughed, and kicked again.

Asta rolled her eyes, collected Ian, who fussed, reaching back for Cullen. “If I don’t split you two up we’ll never eat. Come on, already. We’re eating in the kitchen. It’s warmer.”

Cullen stepped through, “What about our guests?”

“They ate earlier, or grabbed something and took it with them. There has been no peeling Petri away from those papers and books, Cullen. Minaeve says he hasn’t said a word in modern Tevene or Common in days, except to claim that he was going to be famous, and that she’d better be proud.” Asta slid a plate in front of him, then settled down with Ian in her lap at the simple table. “So it’s just us tonight. This is so much easier, isn‘t it? And the girls can go home early, before it gets full dark, if they don‘t have to serve us. Some of the villagers seem to be starting Satinalia early. The Arl came around and advised us to provide them with an escort home, until after the holidays were over.” She smiled softly, “He’s not so bad. Actually cares about people, like Mia claimed. Even went so far as to host Arl Teagan. Josie owes him one now.”

Cullen gulped, and confessed, “Asta, I haven’t found you a Satinalia present.”

Asta blinked, “You gave me a house _and_ a baby this year. Isn’t that enough?”

His shoulder slipped sideways, “You don’t mind? Bull said… he said no one ever gave you anything. You’ve missed all the Skyhold celebrations…”

“And you spent them all locked in your office being grumpy because I wasn’t there, or we were traveling, and they didn’t matter, or we were preparing for something much more important,” Asta laughed. “Cullen, we’re doing Satinalia for the kids, yes. But while I have something for you, it isn‘t much.” She stirred Ian’s porridge idly. “Couldn’t find anything larger I thought you’d like.” She frowned slightly. “Mia offered to help, but… I didn’t think that was a good idea. You‘re not like Branson.”

“Thank you,” Cullen meant it honestly. He paused, “You could make me shortbread?”

Asta smiled a little. “It’s still the only thing I can make. Cook despairs of me. Poor woman. I think my First Day resolution will be to stop wasting food by trying to learn how to cook. But no, I‘m not giving you shortbread.”

“Your shortbread is wonderful,” Cullen argued. “When I was growing up, the Festival was always more important than the gifts anyway. The Golem would even get dressed up for the Feastdays. The committee would drape it with holly and rowan wreaths… and hand out birdseed to the kids to feed the pigeons. Honnleath had the fattest pigeons…” he laughed, remembering. “There would be games and food, and the mayor would always dress up like a jester and ask riddles all day. Mam would make us a costume every year. I was always a knight, naturally, just to make it difficult for her. It was great fun. So what are the kids going as?”

Asta took a deep breath, “Pippa is going as Flemeth. She insisted.”

Cullen spit out his tea and dabbed at his chest. “What… are we sure that‘s wise…”

“It’ll be fine, Cullen,” Asta smiled at Pippa, who was shoveling food too quickly into her mouth to bother talking. “I got the impression that Mythal has a sense of humor. Pup is going to be a Mabari. Josie saw the pattern at Mia’s and gushed until I gave in.” She paused, “It is rather adorable, actually. Almost as cute as you blushing. You‘ll love the ears. And the Kaddis.”

Cullen chuckled, “And you and I?”

“Are we going?” Asta blinked in surprise. “Mia warned me the after-hours revelries could get rather wild… it didn’t seem like your sort of thing.”

“I thought we might,” her smile was worth the potential embarrassment. Perhaps this could be his gift to her. “Bound to be someone who doesn’t want to participate in an alcohol-fueled bonfire that can watch the kids, right? And if that’s the case, a costume is essential. It‘s important to keep the gossips busy, even if they already know exactly who was what and with whom.”

“In that case, Dorian says he picked one out for both of us,” Cullen‘s eyebrows pinched in worry. “Don’t worry, he says they’re perfectly acceptable for frigid weather conditions and the South’s antiquated notions of propriety.”

“What…”

“He won’t let me see them, or tell me what he‘s planning. So he‘s up to no good, as usual.” Asta gave up on getting Ian to eat, and picked up her fork. The baby immediately grabbed for it. “No, Ian. Mum’s.” He kicked his legs against her knee. “Still Mum’s.”

Ian turned and reached out with an open hand. “Da.”

“That’s right,” Asta beamed. Ian stretched himself out, repeating the syllable over and over again, and Cullen put down his knife and took him. “Don’t let him near those, he’ll impale himself,” she advised. Cullen shifted them out of the way, uninterested in the food anyway, in favor of watching his family.

But when Asta wasn’t looking, he slipped him a crust of toast, and watched him gnaw on it with a smile.

It was good to be home.

***

The next morning Cullen was unwilling to let Asta out of his sight. He wandered in with her to the library, and watched Petri visibly shift his language gears back to the present from Ancient Tevene. “When did you get back?” The man blinked, and then shook himself, “No matter. Inquisitor, you’ve got to see these.” He gently pushed a few very fragile documents in her direction.

Asta frowned and then, covered her mouth, looking pale. “Petri, are these…”

“I think so,” Petri crowed, “I think we have copies of the Dissonant Verses older than anything the Chantry has ever seen. In Ancient Tevene! It’s going to take some translating, obviously…”

Cullen blinked, “You mean… the Chant will have to be changed?”

“Not necessarily,” Asta hummed, and pulled up a magnifying glass to look at the vellum more closely. “It depends what has changed. And the Chantry moves glacially, in any case, but…”

“Leliana will want to see it, though,” Cullen concluded, eyeing the rest of the books, spread out gently so that they didn’t touch each other. He reached out to touch a single sheet of paper, and Petri slapped his hand. “Hey!”

“Not without gloves,” Petri scolded. “These are older than old. The Architect must have been collecting them for ages.”

“This one…” Cullen tilted his head, “Is this a genealogy chart?”

Asta’s head snapped up, “What?”

“Oh, yes!” Petri grinned, “I thought you might be interested in that… Dorian!” He yelled, and Dorian appeared from behind a shelf on the other side of the room. “Show your Amica that chart. You know the one I mean…”

Dorian smirked. “Oh, is it time?” He sauntered over and sat deliberately in front of it, draping his robes out as if he was going to perform an instrument in front of an audience. “Remember how I said that the Trevelyans were originally from Tevinter?”

Asta sighed, “Yes, Dorian. Educate me, please.”

“Well, we have quite the family line, my dear,” Dorian beckoned. “This… this is the bloodline of Andraste’s second daughter.”

“Why would the Architect have…”

“Who knows,” Dorian shrugged, “But he did. And you and I, my dear Amica…” he pointed, without touching the surface of the ink. “Pavus. Trevelyan,” he indicated in turn, shifting to various location. “What’s more, someone added to this one,” he grinned almost evilly. “Look.” He shifted his pointed figure.

“Dorian, you know I can’t read Ancient Tevene…”

“It says Amell,” hissed Dorian. “And if I weren’t so incredibly busy I would start your lessons immediately, Asta.”

“Amell?” Asta blinked, “Isn’t that Hawke’s mother’s maiden name?”

“Exactly,” Dorian beamed. “Give the woman a prize. What’s more, a few ages down… we find Cousland.” He indicated the marriage in question with a now shaking finger. “Interested yet?”

“How…”

“And those names aren’t even the interesting ones,” Dorian urged, nearly giddy now. “Remember that Dalish clan that was wiped out outside of Wycome?”

“The Lavellans,” Asta’s face fell. “But surely they…”

“Right here,” Dorian’s hand quivered. “A Lavellan, though with a different spelling, probably linguistic differences as well as ignorance on the record keeper‘s part… as well as several other Elvhen names, such as Mahariel, are on this chart, Amica.”

“How?” Cullen was confused. “How did he know?”

“That is an excellent question,” Petri’s eyes were cloudy but thoughtful. “The chart only goes so far. I would say, however, that this chart is the only known record of Andraste’s line that goes past the Second Blight.  Many of the early Andrastian cults went out of their way to destroy known copies.” He frowned at it angrily, “Shame that it doesn’t start out a generation sooner, so we would know the father of her daughter. That would be quite a coup for you, wouldn‘t it?”

Asta drew a shuddery breath. “This is fascinating. Dorian, Petri, I don’t suppose you could make me a few copies? One in the original, and one translated for those of us without your skills?”

“Minaeve’s working on it,” Petri’s smug face was tempered. “She… was rather upset by the inclusion of the elven names. She‘s taking some time off.”

“I can imagine,” Asta sighed. “It’s not urgent. Thank her for me, though.” She turned and wandered out of the library, lips pressed together.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Cullen offered. “I would have thought you’d be excited… that’s quite a find.”

“I’m thrilled,” Asta gritted out, and then sighed. “I am, love. Really. But… I’m disturbed. If my family, the Queen’s family, _Hawke’s_ family… Dorian‘s family?” she shook herself. “It’s ages back. It doesn’t mean anything. Andraste was just a woman. A mage who did remarkable things. We’re human. We don’t… worship our Ancestors.”

“Well, some of us do,” Cullen teased. “Not you, of course…”

Asta stared at him in horror, and then laughed. “I guess some of us do, at that.”  She grinned, "Love, I think we really ought to write the Champion a letter.  I think the pious Vaels ought to know exactly what they married into."

"I can hear the cursing from Starkhaven now."

 


	72. Temptations of the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And... I finally get to post a Satinalia, or any holiday for that matter, chapter! I'm entirely too excited about this. Poor Asta, missing out on all the fun for so many years running.
> 
> /end fangirling
> 
> NSFW - if you don't want the smut, stop reading after Cullen follows her up the stairs, but pick up again just before the end. I couldn't make it two chapters, sorry. I did try, but there wasn't a good break, and there is plot development in several places in this chapter. It reads like fluff (and smut), but there are important things hidden away, I swear.

The evening of the Festival arrived, and after a day of nearly constant pranks and gifts Asta’s stomach hurt from laughing. Even the huge pair of cloth udders that Dane was currently sporting, with Ma‘am sulking in the corner at Bull‘s prank, wasn’t killing the festive mood. Still chuckling, she excused herself to go get dressed, and Dorian followed her upstairs.

“You’re going to need help, my dear.”

Asta opened her door and stared, blinking, “Dorian, say you didn’t?” There was a set of Templar armor on a stand, polished to glowing. “Cullen won’t wear that, you know. It‘s not even funny.”

“That’s not Cullen’s. It wouldn’t fit him. Cullen’s costume is in the washroom.” Dorian looked smug and examined his fingernails, buffed to shining. “This is my prank, Amica. The armor is for you. Don‘t say you hate it, because I won‘t believe you for a moment. You and your Templar fetish are taking a slightly different turn tonight.”

Asta started to laugh. “Oh, Dorian…” The sound of an opening door in the hallway led to immediate curses.

“Dorian Pavus!” Cullen roared. “Explain yourself!”

“Don’t worry! I’ll be right in and help you get dressed!” Dorian called out. “You’ve never worn robes… there’s a trick to them! It‘s all in where you place the belt! Or belts… And don‘t forget the absurd cowl with the feathers! It‘s absolutely essential! It boosts your magic by six percent, and you need all the help you can get. It cost a small fortune, I‘ll have you know! Your sister told me how you were always a knight, every single damn year! It‘s past time to branch out!”

“I’ll figure it out myself!” Cullen yelled, and Asta realized he was laughing, and relaxed. “Asta, tell me that you’ve got something different. Maker‘s Breath, we are not going to the festival dressed as a pair of mages! Not with our daughter the talk of the town after threatening to turn half the townsfolk into frogs all day. Half of them think she‘s serious!”

“Oh, it’s different,” she ran her thumbnail across her lip. “I think you’ll like it, actually.” She nodded at Dorian and started to rifle through her drawers looking for underarmor. “I’ll be a little longer than you, though. My costume is… complicated.”

Cullen had long since finished before Dorian, with a ring in his nose and horns wider than any Bull’s ever, made his way downstairs in a fuzzy suit with an improbable number of buckles and very obvious genitals. “Hello, Senior Enchanter,” he winked, “You make me want to take some lessons.” He waggled his eyebrows in invitation and swung his hips so that the stuffed cock swung back and forth like a pendulum. “Where’s the hat?”

“You are going to create a riot, Dorian. This isn’t Rivain! Are you drinking already? And the hat is ridiculous. I refuse to wear it, however much it boosts my magic.” Cullen laughed. “Where’s my wife? And is Bull going as you?”

“Haven’t you been drinking? It’s Satinalia! As for Bull…you‘ll see!” Dorian thrust his nose in the air, the large nose ring flashing. “I got the idea from Krem, after he told me the story of the Seer and the chicken bone…”

Cullen heard clanking, and he turned to the stairs again.

His mouth dropped open. “Love…” He was seeing his old Kirkwall armor, sized down to fit her shorter, more slender form, with the gathered fabric falling down into the Sword of Mercy and a helm under her arm, her hair tightly braided around her head, as professional looking as any Templar ever, with a sword at her side and her dress prosthesis glimmering with a fresh glamour, courtesy of the mage at his side. He cleared his throat.

Dorian tutted and reached out to adjust his belt, and he had to swat his friend’s drunken hands away. Dorian chuckled, already aware of the issues underneath.

“That’s Knight-Captain Trevelyan to you,” Asta smiled sweetly and superiorly, before making a face, “Ugh, that sounds like my cousin Archie. He’s an arse, assuming he‘s still alive. Big assumption. Senior Enchanter Rutherford, I presume? A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She reached out a gauntleted hand and Cullen kissed it obediently.

Dorian peered at them both, tilting his head sideways with his hand under his chin, and nodded crisply. “Yes, my work here is done. Enjoy the revels, you two.” He winked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do with a Templar, Enchanter Rutherford.”

“That I can promise,” Cullen said honestly, eyes a little too wide.

“Knight-Captain Trevelyan, fraternization is a sin against the Maker, you know. Do try to keep yourself out of the town stocks?” Asta’s eyes glimmered with wicked innocence.

Dorian let himself out, and Cullen offered Asta his arm. “Shall we… it’s… a little hot in here. Perhaps a walk, under the stars, Knight-Captain? With your permission, naturally.”

“Allow me to escort you, Enchanter,” she took his arm. “It’s silly, isn’t it?” Her face was flushed now. “I feel absurd. And Dorian is far too proud of himself.”

“On the contrary, I find… I find I want to tempt you from your vows, Ser,” Cullen managed. “I wonder the Templar Order was willing to let you go, given how well the armor suits you. Can you… can you use that sword?”

“Maybe I didn’t take any of _those_ vows, Enchanter. And… it’s not my first time in the armor, I just - I fill it out better now, and it certainly doesn‘t seem as heavy. Oh, I bet Rylen _knew_ , with all those heavy packs! And… no. I was hopeless. I should tell you the story of how I managed to stab my own foot sometime. Dorian assures me this one is as blunt as it is shiny,” Asta laughed, before pursing her lips primly, with a ghost of smile hiding behind. “But as Dorian said, fraternization…”

“I’m willing to commit a mortal sin,” Cullen leaned in, but she barely brushed his lips before pulling away with a smirk. “Asta…”

“Call me Knight-Captain. Come on… we have a bonfire to see,” she tugged at him. He could only follow, his course locked in for the evening, the Enchanter escorted by the Templar.

The town square was decorated with paper lanterns and silky ribbons, draped loose like a simple copy of Val Royeaux’s marketplace - the decorations all Josie‘s doing. Booths selling food and drink lined the square, the places where the games for the children were four hours ago now populated with benches for tired, drunken dancers, and largely filled with canoodling couples - most already too drunk to care who was watching. But the centerpiece of the square was the enormous fire spiraling up to the heavens, the effigy of Andraste long since consumed.

Cullen pulled her into the dances at once, the patterns not mattering, his head spinning as the cool darkness of the clear night alternated with the heat of the fire as they turned and ducked and whirled like dervishes, laughing the whole time to the accompaniment of fiddles and pipers and drums and Maryden‘s lute, one song blending into the next as they danced. She followed him, giggling in delight as he tried to compete with Dorian on how many Tevinter steps he could slip into a Fereldan circle dance, until the two friends lost sight of each other amidst those rejoining the dance after a breather.

He, like many of the other partners, kept trying to steal kisses, but she put him off, with a well-turned head, so that they landed on her cheek, or deflected them with a whispered portion of the Chant into his ear that dealt with temptation when the overall pattern drew him too close.

_The Temptations of the Wicked, indeed_ , Cullen thought desperately. How a single person could be so virtuous and yet so naughty… he could only chuckle and pursue as the heat from the bonfire pulsed outward like a beating heart.

Asta finally let herself lean back against Cullen as they watched the remaining dancers attempt to keep up with the speeding musicians, out of breath, and sipping punch - spiked to the point of not being able to taste the fruit at all in the overwhelming fumes of West Hills Brandy _,_ donated by Josephine to ease her way onto the festival committee.

He watched Dorian pull a massive one-eyed peacock, plumes sashaying bewitchingly, bespangled with gold and jewels draped between the unlikely horns, and a pair of enormous wings attached to his arms, away from the fire lest the plumage scorch, and saw the Arl greeting people in a staid manner dressed as an Orlesian chevalier, wearing armor at least five decades old, and a mask with a huge nose and moustache that reached sharply past his ears, and leading a tiny dog painted with Kaddis.

But the last straw was seeing Josie dressed like a Rivani Raider, cleavage gapping, heavy gold chains bouncing, her hips bared almost to her waist, wearing thigh-high boots, her hair piled up haphazardly to display several sets of earrings and a glittering nose and lip stud, dancing very closely with a man who looked like Rylen, if Rylen was ever a Chantry brother… Since when did Josie have that many piercings? And wasn’t she freezing? Josie was always cold…

The alcohol had gone to his head, Cullen decided, and firmly set the cup down. Perhaps someone had spiked it with blood lotus essence? Probably Satinalia revels were better avoided, even in Ferelden.

He lost track of his thoughts as in a low voice, Asta quoted, “For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. / As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, / She should see fire and go toward Light.” She relaxed further against him, staring into the fire‘s core, as if seeing visions herself.

Cullen answered, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist, wishing he could feel her skin instead of the cold metal of her armor through the thick robes, “Andraste said, that magic should serve man…”

Asta turned to face him, her face inscrutable, her arms pressed against the thick fabric on his chest. “Are you here only to serve me, Enchanter?”

“I rather think it might go both ways, Knight-Captain, Ser.” He tried to lean down again, but she leaned back, searching his face.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered, that ghost of a smile playing on the corner of her mouth.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he sighed in relief, and left his mug of punch sitting where it lay.

It spoke to the changes taking place, that no one thought it odd that a mage was leading a Templar out of the town up towards the new house that still, even at this time of night, had light gleaming out from between the shuttered slats from odd windows. That a not a single whisper of ‘maleficar’ followed their slow ascent, or so much as a sidelong glance of suspicion was a small miracle in itself.

Cullen shut the door behind them, turned and hesitated as Asta smiled and slipped away, up the stairs opposite, with her finger on her lips. Cullen nodded his obedience, his mouth upturned to answer hers.

In the Circle, such a rendezvous would have had to be kept silent and secret. In this case, a waking baby would be worse than any Templar punishment - except perhaps for the baby’s mother’s ire.

He’d rather have had Gregoire lock him away for a month than deal with Asta’s fury if that happened.

He couldn’t believe how much he was enjoying this… charade. The robes themselves were oddly freeing. He could see why Anders favored them in Kirkwall - they were warm now in winter, but in summer would be comfortable as well. Breathable, unlike his old armor. He had never cared for stripes, but the fur, as always, was welcome. Especially on this chilly night. It was a shame that they wouldn’t stop a sword…

He suspected he was rather drunk, given the rambling nature of his thoughts.

Someone had left them a bottle of wine, chilling in a bucket, and Asta was already pouring them each a glass, peering over her shoulder suspiciously. “I seem to remember from my abbreviated Templar training that mages aren’t allowed spirits?”

Cullen took the glass anyway. “That depends on the Circle, Knight-Captain, Ser. Ostwick’s may not have been. Kirkwall’s were definitely not. But I’m fairly certain that if a Templar Knight-Captain offered, it would be rude to refuse. Besides, we‘re all apostates now, aren‘t we? Free to consume whatever we bloody well please.”

Asta hummed slightly, and smiled. “In that case, what shall we drink to, Enchanter Rutherford?”

“How about to this,” he leaned down and kissed her, sweetly, one hand sliding behind her back and drawing her closer. She pulled away slightly, smiling up at him.

“You take liberties, Enchanter.”

“Smite me then, Knight Captain, Ser,” smirked Cullen.

“Oh, you’d like that,” Asta purred. “Is that what you want, Enchanter?”

“I want you, Knight-Captain, Ser. I long to serve.”

Asta laughed, “Just how drunk are you, love?”

“A bit,” Cullen admitted, his cheeks already too ruddy to flush further. “I couldn’t taste any fruit in that punch. Did it taste of blood lotus to you? I could have sworn I saw Josie dressed like a Raider… hallucinations might explain…”

“No blood lotus at all,” Asta wrapped her fingers in the fur collar of his robe. “Too drunk to keep going? If you are, you‘d better stop me now.” It was asked lowly, and her voice made him shiver.

“Definitely not. Where? How? I am at your mercy, Knight-Captain.”

“Help me with the armor,” Asta ordered, and Cullen complied, removing the plate piece by piece. When he reached her underarmor, he curled his fingers into the hem, and lifted.

He wasn’t disappointed. “Merciful Andraste,” he breathed, and rubbed his suddenly dry mouth.

Asta refused to turn, merely bent down and removed the leggings deliberately, now gracefully managing with her one hand.

She was wrapped up like a present, in smalls and a breastband that were nothing more than red ribbons tied off at her sides. “I got you something for Satinalia, Enchanter,” she glanced over her shoulder.

“Besides those?” Cullen asked hoarsely, watching her walk deliberately to her dresser, hips swinging bewitchingly, in order to remove a small box. “You’ll spoil your charge, Knight-Captain.” She strolled back over, and resting it on her prosthesis, opened the box.

Inside were two small oblong runes, one engraved with ‘Frost’ and the other ‘Fire’.

Cullen raised his eyes to hers, surprised. “When did Dagna make these?”

“Before she left,” Asta blushed to her forehead, her cheeks still red with chill. “She says she makes them all the time for the healers. Good for strained muscles, and so on… but that she knew they had… other uses as well.” She took a breath, “So… shall I touch you with fire, Enchanter?” Her fingers twitched slightly, as if unsure how the gift would be received.

Cullen reached into the box and lifted the rune, which started to give out heat with the contact of his skin, and then, smiling, removed the other as well, chilly against his fingers. “Find a scarf, Knight-Captain,” he ordered.

Asta blinked, and then laughed, “You’d think it was a present for me,” she teased. “I’ve had my presents, Enchanter.”

“Then this is the prank,” Cullen smirked. “A scarf, Knight-Captain.”

Asta slid the box onto her dresser and pulled a red scarf that matched her under things out of the top drawer. “All right,” she smiled. “Help me?”

He set the runes down and tied the scarf over her still braided hair, only just starting to straggle out of its bindings, and then guided her back to the bed without a word. “Lay down,” he breathed into her hair. “But keep your legs on the edge of the bed.”

Obedient, she complied, spreading them slightly, and he breathed a little faster, his head still whirling. He disrobed gently, trying to be silent and not curse his way out of the unfamiliar garments, and placed the runes one on each side of her and then knelt at her feet. “Are you sure about this?”

“Maker, yes,” Asta wriggled impatiently. Without touching her legs, he leaned in and messily, lacking his usual control, kissed her over the beribboned smallclothes. She spread her legs further to give him access. He stopped.

“You’ll say, won’t you if…”

“What are you thinking about? I’ll call you ‘Commander‘,” laughed Asta, “If I need you to listen to my orders. Keep going!”

“Good,” Cullen breathed, and started again, tugging at the lips of her, the slick satiny fabric still in the way, and pressing them between his teeth and tongue. Still not touching her legs, he reached out and picked up the Fire rune, letting it warm in his hand before placing it deliberately on the flat of her stomach. “Relax,” he told her when she shuddered at the heat.

“I trust you,” Asta breathed, “But I’ll admit to a little confusion…”

“Good,” Cullen repeated with a snicker, and picked up the Frost rune. “It’s a prank. Confusion is expected. Hold still.” With his left hand, he started tracing circles around the large round of her breasts, over and around the ribboned breastband, as she tried to arch up, to get him to move closer to the peaks. “Relax,” he said again, his voice warm and loving.

“You’re not making that easy,” and he bent between her legs again, shifting the Frost to sit directly on the nipple as he breathed upon her. “Oh Maker,” she muttered, and he let it go, trusting that the rune would do its job against her skin as well as against his. She shivered, but lifted her arm as if to touch it.

“Go ahead,” he gave permission like an order. “Touch yourself. Let me see.” He swirled his tongue against the fabric over her nerves and she grabbed the rune tight, pressing it into her skin underneath the ribbons. “That hard, hmm?”

“I want to ache for you,” she murmured. “Make me ache, love?”

“I live to serve,” Cullen smiled against her, and climbed up the bed to straddle her hips, and bent down to kiss her. She groaned at the first taste, and then used her tongue to clean off his lips before twining with his own. He remained suspended over her on all fours, not touching her at all except for their mouths meeting - hers nearly frantic, and his pacing deliberately countering it. She tried to lift her legs to pull him in. “Asta,” he warned.

“Ugh!” Her exasperated voice made him shiver himself. “I want to touch you!”

“Not yet,” Cullen breathed into the side of her neck, kissing it gently. “First, I want you to take the Fire rune and run it between your legs. Let me watch.”

“Cullen, you really are drunk,” Asta laughed. “Should I drop the Frost?”

“No, just leave it under your breastband, and I‘m not that drunk,” Cullen protested, and shifted to loosen the ties at her hips, so that the smallclothes dropped away from her body, completely soaked with the damp from his lips and hers. “You’re so lovely…” he breathed, looking, seeing the whole picture that her body presented, and then pulled a chair to sit, resisting the desire to touch himself. She moaned, and parted her folds with the rune slowly. “That’s the way. Just say if it’s too hot…”

She arched up against nothing as it reached her cunt, and let it hover. “Cullen…” she breathed. “May I…”

“If you like,” Cullen swallowed. “Anything you like tonight.” She pressed it slowly, a scarce half inch, and moaned. “If you could only see what I see,” he observed. “The Herald of Andraste looking more holy than any statue in any chantry right at this minute. Touching herself with fire.”

Asta moaned and shuddered, lifting her head as if she could see him. “Cullen…”

“Take more of it?” he asked softly. “I want to see you…”

Her head fell back, “I’m going to get you back for this.”

He laughed, low and sexy. “I’ll look forward to it.” He rose, his body aching in turn to touch her, take her over the edge. “That conversation we had while I was in the Deep Roads without you… this is what I was picturing.”

“Aren’t you going to join me?” She demanded, moving the rune in and out, panting, breath hitching.

“It wouldn’t be much of a prank if I did,” Cullen managed to sound amused, as he hovered above her head. “Perhaps the prank is that I make love to you tonight without ever touching you at all. Bring you joy again and again without exerting any effort.”

“Shit,” Asta gasped. “You wouldn’t…”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” Cullen asked from above her, shivering with want, all over gooseflesh. “I know I am.” He didn’t dare hold himself, lest he let go entirely.

“Yes,” she panted. “But Cullen… I want you!”

“Call me Commander, then, and it ends,” Cullen whispered bluntly. “I’ll sink myself in you further than that runestone will ever reach, stretch you around me, pull you against me until you forget any name but mine.”

Asta hissed, but couldn’t manage words, and then, with a cry, “I’m…”

Cullen reached out and grabbed the rune out of her hand, slick with her fluids. “No.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” her teeth were clenched and her voice dripped with disbelief.

“It _is_ a prank,” Cullen forced himself to continue to sound amused, as if he wasn’t aching with want of her. “Joking is exactly what I’m doing.” He reached out and untied the ribbons holding her breasts back. “There. Now, take the Frost and do the exact same thing.”

“If I were an elf, I would be wishing the Dread Wolf on you right now,” he watched her swallow, and move to obey. “I don’t think the Chantry has an equivalent. What an oversight. We need a new religion with something other than magisters to wish on people that piss us off.”

“Let’s not bring former allies into our little game, love,” Cullen chuckled. “Neither of us is his type. Slower,” he warned when she started thrusting the Frost far too quickly. “Take your time. We have until morning.”

“You are going to die, when I can do what I’m thinking about to you,” her wicked smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I have no doubt I will,” he laughed, and then leaned over to stop her mouth with his. Slowly, he tangled his tongue with hers, upside down, just to confuse her, and then pulled away to settle the Fire rune around the still warm nipple, and his own lips around the cold one.

She dropped the Frost rune on the floor. “Sorry, I had to s-stop,” she shuddered. “Cullen, I’m…”

He pulled back. “Do you want me to take you now?”

“More than anything,” he had never heard her so desperate. “Please, Cullen…”

“Call me your Commander,” he whispered into her hair just above her forehead.

“You’ll always be my Commander,” she begged. “Just please…”

He climbed over her, bent down and pressed his lips over her nerves from above, and shuddered as he felt her lick his cock gently, testing him, and then mouth him, and then rake her teeth over his crown deliberately. He cursed against her, and pulled back.

“Serves you right,” she giggled, licking her lips. “Maker, your taste…”

He paced back to the other side, swept up the rune from the floor, and grabbed her ankles, pressing her knees back to her chest. He placed the Frost on her other nipple and then, let out a breath. “Are you sure?”

“Do your worst,” Asta dared him.

Cullen sank into her slower than slow, clenching his teeth, but determined to give her the opposite of what she was expecting.

The long exhalation of her whine was more like music than complaint as he glided slowly out, and then back again, transforming pleasure into torment. “Maker, love! I can‘t…” Her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders and chest were flushed and blotchy, her hand twisted in the bedsheets. “Tell me you won‘t stop!” She arched her back, trying to reach him, to move him faster.

“When we get that far,” Cullen teased. “I could go like this for hours,” he lied.

“Please…” she begged.

“You still have your words,” he breathed and thrust once, hard, a hand pressed against her lower stomach, bumping her womb deliberately. “Perhaps I’m not doing my job? Should I stop?”

Asta groaned.

“Good, we’re on the same page,” he made himself laugh, and closed his eyes, mentally begging Andraste, the Maker, Maferath, anyone who was listening, to let him last long enough to see her over the edge first. He reached around and cupped her ass and pulled her harder against him…

And for once, someone listened. She broke apart in sobbing waves, washing him with pleasure, and he rode her harder, listening to her calling his name alone, again, and again and again.

He pulsed into her a scarce minute later, panting and completely spent, doubled over against her, despite his relative lack of exertion. “Are you alright?” he heard her whisper, her hand searching for his face, and when finding his chin, stroking it gently.

“Yes,” he pushed out. “You?” His breath shuddered as he settled himself on the bed next to her.

“Oh, I‘m grand,” she laughed, as she only did after the best sex. He flushed with pride, loving that he could make her laugh here, and everywhere else. He pulled the scarf off of her now-disheveled braids so he could see her eyes. They twinkled up at him like stars.

“What’s so funny?” This went beyond any normal post-sex euphoria. This was… glee. At his expense.

She bent up towards his ear, “I purposefully didn’t take my potion while you were gone. That’s my prank, Cullen ’We shouldn’t be doing this’ Rutherford.”

He pulled back, searching her eyes. “What?! Asta… are you sure? I thought you…”

“I knew you wanted more children, and I… I want at least one more. A brother for Ian, or a sister for Pippa…” she flushed. “Might as well do it now. I’m used to taking care of a baby. They’ll be close, but not that close, and this way will be old enough to travel a lot sooner… and I‘m not getting younger. Might take a while.”

He kissed her, still tasting her on her own lips. “You didn’t have to… Maker, Asta! We could have done this together!”

“We just did,” she smirked. “Blessed Satinalia, love.”

They were silent for a while, while he held her in shock, and then she spoke, “You didn’t really just call me the Herald of Andraste in bed, did you? You don‘t still believe that?”

Cullen chuckled, “Of course I do.” He reached out and stroked her lower stomach, thinking about her pregnant again, and trying very hard not to start all over again, just to improve the odds.

“Why?!” Asta rolled over to face him. “All the evidence points to the contrary, Cullen. Isn’t it past time to let it go?”

Cullen reached out and traced her lips, lovingly, “From the day I first met you, I knew you would either lead me to redemption or lead me to my death.” He leaned in, closer, to whisper in her ear, “What about that doesn’t scream the name of our Lady?”

Asta curled in around him, protectively draping a leg over and between his. “Redemption, then.”

Cullen closed his eyes and gathered her in even closer, running a finger down her spine to the curve of her buttocks. “If it‘s possible. That would be my preference.”

“And you aren’t upset?” She sounded shy now, worried she had taken the Feastday too far. Ostwick had other traditions, after all.

Cullen shivered, “No. I do… I do want more children. Your children. As many as you‘ll give me. It‘s a gift,” he confessed, knowing it was the alcohol loosening his tongue. “But I don’t want you to give up everything you want to make me…”

“Shhh,” Asta pressed her finger to his lips. “I want this. I made the decision weeks ago to have at least one more. I just… neglected to discuss it with you. No privacy in the Deep Roads.” She pushed herself up and over him to sit astride his hips. “Do I need to prove how much?”

“Perhaps you do?” Cullen wrapped his wide hands around her hips and shifted her down to meet him.

“All right,” Asta giggled, and leaned down. “You asked for it. Remember that in a while when you feel like you‘re going to die. I did warn you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iduna is responsible for the prompt that led to the 'redemption or my death' conversation. I think it worked really well here.
> 
> I took some liberties with the various ways Satinalia is celebrated across Thedas, it is true. I really dislike the 'fool becomes a king' (I think it insults the mentally disabled, however historically accurate it is) tradition that World of Thedas volume 2 discusses, so I... changed it so that the Arl became a fool instead. And I decided that if Josie was in South Reach that no way was she not going to be responsible for planning a Satinalia festival that brought in everything she misses about Orlais and Antiva. And I loved the idea of it being like Carnivale (Tevinter and Rivain celebrate it that way), so I decided that even in staid Ferelden they would likely have after hours parties for the adults on one night, at least. So it turned into a combination of Guy Fawkes Day, mixed with Halloween, mixed with Carnivale, mixed with a few of the Solstice celebrations my home state throws.
> 
> I hope it's not confusing. I really had fun writing it.


	73. Venom in My Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from 'Cold' by Five Finger Death Punch
> 
> "I'm gazing upward, a world I can't embrace  
> There's only thorns and splinters, venom in my veins  
> It's okay to cry out, when it's driving you insane  
> But somehow, someday, I'll have to face the pain.
> 
> "It's all gone cold  
> But no one wants the blame  
> It's all so wrong  
> But who am I, who am I to say?"

It was two days later when the frantic Warden dwarf arrived. “We’re coming,” Sigrun gasped, as if she had run the whole way. “It didn’t work. Kinloch came to nothing, it was completely looted, and the scholars need the books. I don‘t think I‘ve seen the Warden Commander this pissed off since Ser Pounce A Lot… well, no. I’ve never seen her quite like this. So they’re coming to see what your people found out. Be here in about two days. Dagna has some ideas on the lake sludge… but she needs her equipment here.”

Pippa sat up straighter at the desk where she was working. “Lake sludge?”

Cullen tapped her book, “Work, Pip.”

She looked back down, rebelliously. “I can help. Hope says so.” She scowled.

“Velanna and Fiona will tell you their theories when they arrive,” Sig fidgeted uncomfortably. “I’m supposed to ask if there’s room for all of us or if you‘ll arrange for rooms at the inn - the Warden Commander doesn‘t particularly want to make a scene in the village, if it isn‘t necessary - and the state of mind she‘s in, you probably don‘t want her in polite company anyway. Alistair is reining her back, but he‘s struggling.”

“We’ll make room,” Asta glanced at Cullen worriedly, biting her lip. “South Reach would go mad, if they knew the queen had returned. We can keep it quiet-ish here, as long as we have Josie instruct the servants carefully. They’re good people. Gossip will get around, but we’ll have a few days at least. Bryland will handle part of it if Josie asks nicely, and the rest, technically, is Teagan’s job. Dorian and Bull can move back to Mia’s, right? You don‘t mind doubling up, do you?” The last was directed at Sigrun.

“Don’t worry about us,” Dorian protested. “Mia will be charmed. I think she’s rather fond of Emily.”

Sig just snorted, “You‘re kidding, right? We’ve been camping for fucking years. Probably can’t even sleep in a bed anymore. Just put Nate with Velanna, will you? I can deflect Oghren’s grabby hands in my sleep after all these years, because I know he doesn’t mean it, but if I have to hear those two rutting…”

Asta blinked, but recovered, “Of course, I didn’t realize they were…”

“Not many do,” Sigrun smiled. “I’d better report back.”

“Can’t we get you something warm to drink before you leave?” Asta offered feebly.

Sigrun stood up straighter, “I don’t suppose you have something called ‘chocolate’, do you?” She fidgeted, “I read about it, and heard Bull talking about it… I like to try new things.” she seemed even more embarrassed to ask for this than for permission for them to stay.

Dorian sniffed, and laid down his book. “Milady, I believe I can help. For you, I’ll raid Bull‘s personal stash. Nobody should be out in this bloody weather. You‘ve earned it.”

The perky dwarf’s eyes flashed with joy as she followed him to the kitchen.

***

The raven flew in the next day to the thumps of a hammer, looking chilly and put upon. It roosted in the window of the kitchen, and sighing, the Cook held out her arm and detached the letter with practiced ease, directing the hopping bird to a plate of scraps. She dusted off her apron irritably, and opened the kitchen door, and the pounding noises grew even louder. “OY! Another one of those damn letters! Kirkwall, this time!”

Asta came out of the stillroom opposite, hair mussed and falling down from her bun, and smelling strongly of elfroot. “Kirkwall? Varric, Cassandra, or my brother?”

“Void if I know,” grumbled the grumpy Cook. “I didn’t read it. I just feed the damn things when they fly through my window, don’t I? I‘ve enough to do.”

“Thank you, Cook,” beamed Asta and took the letter. “I know it’s an inconvenience…”

“Whatever,” the Cook mumbled. “As if deliverin’ a letter without reading it first were an ‘ardship.”

“You’d be surprised,” Asta chuckled, and ripped the letter open. “Cullen!” She laughed, and covered her mouth, horror spreading slowly over her amusement. “Cullen!”

Hammering from the upstairs ceased, and Cullen came partway down the stairs, “What is it? Has something happened?”

Asta crossed over and kissed his dusty cheek. “A letter from Varric. Thought you might…”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Is this about…”

“Perhaps…” Asta prompted, and thrust the letter at him again. “Read!”

　

_Dear Inquisitor, Curly, Seeds, and Pup,_

_Well, my salutations are getting longer these days. Hang on a minute, I need to shake my hand loose. Writer’s cramp._

_There, that’s better. Now, what the Void did you write to Hawke? She sat still for a full half hour, staring blankly, and then she flipped the fuck out. (Cassandra is informing me that I shouldn’t use that word, even in a private letter, as I have included Seeds in my address. Sounds like a challenge to me. Knowing Asta, Seeds has heard it before.) Hawke fucking screamed at her Princeling for a good half hour, before she let him read the damned letter._

_Cassandra informs me that ’screamed’ sounds too scary. That in fact she was actually scolding him. Hawke’s not a nag. She doesn’t scold like a fishwife. She shouts, leaves, goes out to kill a few things bigger than she is, and then comes home calm. But I digress._

_And as far as Choir Boy’s reaction, I have never seen anyone look more… stupid. Hawke tells him that it has to be his fault, somehow, because everything to do with Andraste is his fault. (Andraste? What the fuck, Inquisitor?) And then - a first occurred. Princeling fucking contradicted her. “On the contrary, my love,” he replied, positively smirking, “This one is all on you. I’m fairly certain the Vaels aren’t to be found anywhere on that chart.” Hawke grabbed the letter and burnt it to ash in her hand before I could look at it._

_So… what chart? You two aren’t holding out on the Seeker and I, are you? Because the Royals of Fucking Starkhaven refuse to discuss it entirely. Hawke just looked at me and took me for all I was worth at Wicked Grace. Said it served me right for being so fucking nosy._

_Sebastian gritted his teeth at me and told me it wasn’t his place to say. And now they aren’t talking to each other because Hawke scoffed (Cassandra’s word, not mine. I would have said she snorted.) at him and told him that was the first time he hadn’t seized an opportunity to talk about Andraste. (She has a point.)_

_Now, I’m a very patient dwarf. Really. There are reasons to hold back information. But if you know something about Hawke that hurts her… I think I’ve earned the right to know. She’s…_

_Fuck, Asta, just once, can’t someone else go through something? I mean, miserable extended visits to uncomfortably large white palaces for major holidays aside, you’ve made this trip into the shittiest one I’ve ever had the misfortune to endure with one damn letter. And I’ve been locked into a Deep Roads vault more than a week below the surface by my only brother. Just saying. I’m about to let Cass try to get them to make up. Void take it, I might help her._

_Hawke’s got something good going on here. I may hate the ass, but he loves her. He’s… worried, I think, about whatever was in that letter. We all are. So ‘fess up, will ya? Before I ship myself over there in a packing box (because I’d have to evade Bran, and my sources say he watches the Kirkwall docks) and kick your ass. In this, at least, my lovely wife and I agree - if you hurt Hawke I’ll sic the Seeker on you. And I’m not talking about the crossbow. Cassandra is resisting the urge to pack now. Of course, she’s itching to see some real action again, and have I mentioned the marital tension that is ruining our trip? Starkhaven doesn’t have enough training dummies to withstand my wife’s frustration. Nor does anyone really want to witness her attempts at getting Hawke and Sebastian to kiss and make up. I’m sure it would involve poetry. Hawke would set the book on fire._

_Whatever you’re up to, and all threats aside, you can count on us. Bran would love the opportunity to stage a coup. He’s earned it. And it’s about time Squirt saw the other side of the Waking Sea, wouldn’t you say? Travel is good for kids._

_Don’t hold out on me, Inquisitor._

_Your Mildly Threatening Friend who ‘knows people’,_

_Varric_

_Viscount of Kirkwall on his good days._

　

Cullen folded the letter and blew out a long breath. “So… they’re probably already on their way.”

“We’re running out of space,” Asta mildly observed.

“True,” Cullen sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “So… King and Queen of Ferelden will probably arrive tomorrow. But maybe we can convince them to stay with Bryland? What do we do with the Viscount’s family? And the Prince and Champion?”

Asta stared for a moment and started laughing, slumping against the balustrade, and holding on. “Oh, Cullen. Is your only worry about this situation is where we’re going to put the visiting royalty?!”

Cullen frowned, “Well, we can’t farm them out to Mia’s. Dorian and Bull are there. We have the whole group of Wardens coming with the King and Queen, and Bryland has the space for them, though at least they’re going to be less recognizable - there’s a bloody picture of the Hero on the wall of every hut in Ferelden!”

Asta sighed, “I’ll write back to Varric, and try to dissuade him. But if they do make the trip, at least they won’t be here for a little while? Talk to Josie. I‘m sure she can work wonders with Bryland. If he can take the Wardens, then we‘ll manage Their Majesties. We‘ll worry about the rest if they show up. I suppose.”

_Dear Varric,_

_All that the chart consisted of was a certain famous woman’s family tree. Hawke’s mother’s family was mentioned. So were the Trevelyans, and… several others. Please, don’t overreact. It’s new information, but we don’t have a direction for you to point Seeker (either Seeker) in. So please, don’t call in the Crows?_

_Cullen and I are sincerely sorry that we’ve ruined your holiday trip. But you might remember a character from your book when speaking to Hawke about the subject, and I quote, “Is it Fate or Chance? I can never decide.” I - we - are slowly coming to grips with the fact that to some degree, it is likely Fate. I imagine that is the issue Hawke wrestles with right now, and probably her husband as well. It is true, that everything seems to happen to her, doesn’t it? I regret ever writing the letter._

_But I suspect that it also has something to do with Choice. It may have been Fate that destined us to be of Andraste’s line, but it was our choices, not chance, that drew us into the limelight, isn’t it? I have dozens of cousins that have never done so much as appeared in the local broadsheet. Their ancestors are the same as mine. If Fate lead to our birth, and Chance to us being in the right place at the right time, it is Choice that made us who we are, our own determination to do the best with what we are given._

_I hope that helps Hawke. Her paths led to darker places than mine._

_When we make a move, you will know. Hawke has made it clear to me several times over that you never leave home without the trusty dwarf at your side. I will not make that mistake again._

_Your Friend,_

_Asta Rutherford_

_P.S. We really don’t have the room right now for more guests. Cullen is muttering about needing to plan an addition or perhaps a guesthouse. He has enough to do, Varric, and Branson is still trying to finish up the outbuildings. Mia is full up, and even the local inn is jammed full. Perhaps put off your visit until after First Day, at least? After that, we should have an idea about when we can start rebuilding at Skyhold. Josie is making encouraging noises, so I’m optimistic that the funds will be there. Once a few people move out or go home we’d love to have all of you. But right now, you’d either be camping with the Chargers or sleeping on the sofa in the parlor. We could put all of the kids in the same room - but none of them would likely sleep ever again. You don’t really want to do that, do you? I never realized how much we actually needed a castle until we didn’t have one. A.R._

***

The King and Queen of Ferelden entered South Reach before the darkest nights of the year, knocking quietly at the door and being admitted subtly, their small entourage hooded and silent.

“Idle time is wasted time, and this was a complete waste,” the Queen dropped her hood and revealed her Warden armor. She snarled at the Inquisitor, an easy target for her anger, but gentled at the sight of her nearly despairing mother in law. “Mother Fiona, I mean no offense…”

“It’s all right,” Fiona whispered. “I don’t know what we’re missing…” Her frustration was evident in her tense body. “Perhaps it’s because there were so fewer darkspawn… we killed so many last time, and then Kell sacrificed himself for us… was it his sacrifice, perhaps? Or when we sent Nicholas‘ body into the lake, instead of building a pyre?”

“And what was up with that?!” Elissa punched the hall table with the flat of her fist, making the silver platter for letters rattle. “Barely a single genlock, from long before the time I left for the surface! There are always darkspawn, everywhere in the Deep Roads! Why not here?! The Inquisition didn‘t kill that many! Where are they?!”

“I keep telling you we need a new perspective!” Dagna insisted stubbornly. “There are too many variables! We should be starting from scratch!” She set down her bag, clanking with tins and glass flasks. “We’ve got all the samples, and the basin should already be here…” she squinted at Asta, unsure, “it did arrive, didn’t it? It’s just, we ran across this old wagon in the Frostbacks that had been sent before the Blight got going, with most of the Orlais Circles’ information on the Second Blight and now I’m all worried…”

“We got it,” Asta confirmed, her eyes lighting up. “You did mark the wagon’s location, didn’t you?”

Dagna waved a hand dismissively, “’Course. I wasn’t born yesterday. And I’ve got some of it in my pack. Wardens said it was important.” She glanced behind her. “Where’s Sera?”

“Waiting for you, I bet,” Asta laughed. “Don’t blow anything up, that’s all I ask.”

The dwarf disappeared without promising a thing.

Pippa lifted her head from her book. “I know what you should do next, Warden Commander, Enchanter Fiona.” The women barely looked at her, lost in their frustration and misery, so she sighed, closed her book, and took out her sewing basket. She rifled through it gently, “Mum, can I have some fabric out of the storeroom? Something nicer than Plaideweave?”

“Whatever you like, Pip,” Asta smiled and turned back to the women. “Should I get Petri and Dorian? They might have information…”

Pippa left the room with her workbasket, unnoticed.

Two days later the argument was still ongoing, but this time with Dorian and Petri in the mix. “No, the key is the dagger!” Dorian fumed. “Fiona’s account clearly states that it diffused the corruption when it stabbed… and if the Chant is correct, the Blight is nothing but a massive spell cast by the Maker! It should be…”

“But we don’t have the person casting the spell directly in front of us,” Petri argued, with Fiona’s emphatic nod of agreement. “Or the source… without traveling directly to the Black City, which I wouldn‘t advise…”

“If that mattered, then Duncan would have been cured, not Fiona!” Dorian insisted. “The active spell was directed towards him. She was merely casting herself into oblivion, not…”

“Perhaps I should send to Denerim for Maric’s sword,” Elissa ruminated, holding her head and a glass of whiskey, tilting it and watching the legs of the strong alcohol run down the sides of the glass. It was her third. “Alistair, what do you think…”

“I can make all the runes you want,” Dagna dismissed. “We’ve got a great supply of Revenant Hearts in storage here, and as I’ve said, time and again, those runes were Cleansing. We don’t need the actual sword at all! I‘ve even got Dragonbone, though I don‘t have an appropriate forge anywhere closer than Skyhold…”

“Please don’t fight,” Alistair whimpered. “What good is finding a Cure if no one is speaking to each other afterward?” In the midst of this, Pippa slipped into the room, and without asking, tugged on Alistair’s shoulder, getting him to bend down as if she had something to say to him. “Yes, my dear?” She lifted a pair of tweezers and yanked several hairs from his head. “OW! My hair! What the…”

She turned, determined, to Elissa, and reached up slightly to do the same thing. Elissa met Asta’s eyes, confused and befuddled with the alcohol. “I don’t hang out with kids much. Does your daughter often…”

Fiona tilted her head, unasked, and smiled as the child retrieved several hairs from her head. “I think the child has something in mind. Perhaps we should listen?”

Pippa sighed in relief, and plonked three little dolls onto the table between them. One was taller, with short hair and a crooked smile, the next was shorter, dark-haired and slender, with the suggestion of pointed ears drawn meticulously on the side of its head, and the last between the two, with longer, dark floss hair with a streak of grey on one side. All three had a gap in their middles, showing stuffing puffing out.

Dorian beamed at her while she divided the hairs carefully by length and color, inserting them into the hole in the related poppets. “Such a clever girl. Definitely takes after me.” Pippa rolled her eyes at him. “Sympathetic magic is an overlooked discipline in this age…” he began to lecture.

“It’s about time someone started thinking,” Pippa grumbled. “You don’t need the source. Every blighted creature is a source, capable of spreading the Blight independently. And we have several Blighted creatures right here, right now. We might not be able to erase the Blight from the face of Thedas - at least not yet - but we can absolutely cure them one or two at a time. It‘s not efficient, but it‘s a start.”

Petri sat down, and leaned forward, fascinated. “So… what are you thinking?”

Pippa sighed, “Da, you’re not going to like this.”

Cullen closed his eyes and tried not to feel sick. “Go on, Pip. I trust you.”

Pippa lifted a sharp needle. “The Blight is transmitted through blood. And that’s how to cure it. All the purifying and cleansing runes in the world ain’t gonna work, if you don’t use the blood connection. Fiona and his Majesty, in addition, share…”

Cullen tensed, “No, absolutely not! No blood magic,” he turned to Petri, glaring, “What have you been teaching my daughter, you…”

“Not I!” Petri insisted. “And not Rhys either. We draw up lesson plans together! I would know! She hasn‘t so much as asked a question about blood magic!”

“This is Hope’s idea,” Pippa announced clearly. “No one else’s! And its less blood than in a phylactery, Da! I’m not sacrificing Fiona to save her son, however willing!”

Elissa flinched, her eyes cloudy with alcohol and bad memories, and Alistair covered her hand. “Definitely not an option,” the King muttered. “No one is dying for me.”

“Well, that would work too,” Pippa admitted, frowning, “But this is easier and far less messy. Not to mention, legal, even under the most restrictive College guidelines. I checked.” She stared Cullen down, defiantly. “Should I keep going? Or go do my chores and pretend I don‘t know what I‘m talking about, Da?”

Asta squeezed Cullen’s knee. “We’ll listen, Pippa.”

Pippa grinned in relief. “Oh, good. Because I’m going to need to come along. Told you that you wouldn’t like it. But Hope says he’s got to be there.”

“There?” Asta prompted.

“It needs to happen at Kinloch,” Pippa nodded positively. “They have the largest warded Circle anywhere nearby. We can use their Harrowing Chamber…”

“No…” Cullen’s hand quivered, and Asta tightened hers around it. “You’re going nowhere near that Tower, Pippa…”

“It’s just a building,” Pippa shrugged, “I can’t be possessed, Da. Hope protects me.”

“Ser Cullen,” Alistair began slowly, “Is your daughter an…”

“We aren’t using that word!” Asta said, far too loudly for the situation, and then cleared her throat. “But… she has a spirit companion.”

“Like Wynne?” Elissa squeezed Alistair’s hand.

“Sort of,” Pippa shrugged, “Not exactly. There’s an Elvhen word for it. Era’elgar*. A spirit mage or vessel. I’m more the first than the second, and it‘s only temporary. You should talk to Ser Evangeline. She‘d explain Wynne’s situation better. Wynne was more the second than the first, later in life.”

“Sneaky witches,” muttered Alistair suspiciously. “I’ve seen a doll like that one before, Elissa. You gave one to Morrigan as a joke. I limped for a whole day until it wasn’t funny anymore!”

Elissa’s mouth twitched. “You got better! And don’t exaggerate. It was only a few hours. And you claimed afterward it was the best Feastday you‘d ever had.” His rather drunk wife winked at him.

Alistair smiled to himself, “I still have those puppets.” His wife patted his leg.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Pippa walked over to the King. “Quite the opposite. I‘m going to save your life, and your Queen‘s. You just have to trust me. Please, trust me?”

Dorian was still staring at Pippa with admiration. “What did you have in mind, my diabolical little cousin?”

Pippa took a deep breath, “They stand inside the warded Circle, surrounded with a regeneration glyph, with Cleansing runes imbedded in the intersections. Fiona raises the wards, says whatever you adults think is necessary. The dolls will be stacked in a pile, Fiona’s on top, and Her Majesty will stab them with that weird dagger, all the way through. Then the Wardens bathe in that basin that Dagna’s been cooing over, and have sex.”

Alistair choked on his tea, “What?! What is it with witches and…”

“My kind of magic. Stabbing and sex. Nice,” Bull rumbled, speaking up for the first time.

Dorian hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, while not popular amongst Southern Circle mages for obvious reasons, sexual arcania could be just the thing…”

Bull eyed Dorian warily, “Kadan, are you saying sex magic is a real thing?!”

Dorian blinked, “Of course it is. Just another way of dealing with energy. That’s all magic is, the ability to direct energy in various ways, whether from the Fade, or by using lyrium, or your own life force…”

“But sex magic is a thing!” Bull was getting excited now. “Well, shit, what are we waiting for? You’ve got to show me some!”

“No,” Dorian refused bluntly. “Magic isn’t a plaything, Bull.”

“You play with your magic all the time,” Bull whined.

“This is different,” Dorian stressed, “Sex magic releases a great deal of energy when done right, Amatus. Remember when I lit the curtains on fire?”

Bull blinked, “Oh.”

“And that was just a little slip,” Dorian reminded him, “caused by your uncanny - and frankly unexpected, I wasn’t prepared at all - mastery of lovemaking. Yes, the Circle Tower. Definitely. A formal warded Circle, in an isolated chamber made of stone…” He drew a piece of parchment towards him and started scribbling glyphs. Pippa watched over his shoulder. “There! Do you think that will do it?” He asked her, almost shyly.

Pippa reached out, hesitantly taking his quill, and drew two small parallel lines through one of the designs. “For release. Just in case. Since two of the participants are not mages. We… don‘t need to make them brighter in the Fade. It might attract the wrong sort of attention.” She sounded a little unsure.

“Oh,” he breathed in awe. “That…” he lifted the paper with shaking hands. “We really must talk more, my dear.”

“Only if you’ll listen,” Pippa gritted her teeth. “I’m young, but I‘m already getting tired of arguing.”

Dorian shoved it across the table to Petri and Dagna, and Dagna swung herself back up into a chair to peer at the notes. Petri sat back and ran his hand through his hair. “That’s really…” he stared at Pippa. “Have you been holding out on me, young lady? I thought you were struggling with glyph symbols?”

“No,” she whispered, toeing the floor. “Hope says I have to learn the basics on my own. He just supplied this, cause I didn’t know, and I needed it. This once. I only understand what it is supposed to do, not the theory that explains it.”

“Right,” Dagna finished her perusal. “I can do this. I’m gonna get to work. Give me, say, three days. I’ll have to use the big mortar and pedestal for the Revenant Hearts. I apologize for the noise in advance. Anyone that wants a go at the pounding, come see me. My muscles will need the break.” She left the room, leaving most in shock.

Dorian was still staring at Pippa. “No sex magic,” he frowned. “Shouldn’t need it. The nature of a regeneration spell is such…”

Pippa instantly argued, “The final release of the energy is necessary! You of all people should recognize the Blight‘s power needs to be… let go! Think about what red lyrium does to Templars and what the Joining brings to Grey Wardens and then try to tell me that confining it is a good idea…”

“The bathing should be enough,” Dorian contradicted. “A simple purification should be all the release the Wardens will need, given…”

“No, it won’t! It has to,” Pippa rolled her hands, and then made them flare out in a wide gesture, like wings. “I can’t explain it! Hope isn’t giving me the words!”

“All to the better! You’re too young to even be considering a specialized study of the sexual and the arcane, young lady…”

“Don’t ‘young lady’ me!” Pippa fumed, stomping her foot. “I figured it out when all your arguing wasn’t doing nothing!”

“Wasn’t doing anything,” Asta corrected gently. “Pippa… Hope says he has to be there?” She bit her lip, Cullen tensing beside her

Pippa relaxed, only a little, “Yes, Mum! I need to go!”

“Don’t I have a say in this?” Alistair asked, his voice taut with stress. “I’ve been through one such ritual, and don’t precisely have fond memories…”

Elissa released her head and squeezed his hand, “At least this time we’ll be together? Might make all the difference? You know how I feel about magic in general, Cheesy. This isn‘t easy for me, either.”

Alistair frowned, and then melted. “All right. I suppose… I suppose that is a key difference, my love.” He pressed his lips together. “Make your plans. But if we could do it without the… I would appreciate it a great deal. Some things shouldn‘t be mixed.” He shuddered, “Really bad memories, here.”

Pippa and Dorian glowered at each other, and for the first time, Asta had to agree with Dorian on a certain issue.

They did look alike.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *era'elgar, according to Fenxshiral's project Elvhen is a spirit Mage or spirit vessel. Whether this applies to all spirit healers might be a matter of debate, but would likely apply both to Wynne and Evangeline. It's a way of delineating 'abominations' from more beneficial spirit/Mage pairs.


	74. Complete the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The extremely sappy chapter title is from 'Circle in the Sand' by Belinda Carlisle. 
> 
> 'Circle in the sand  
> 'Round and 'round  
> Rising of the moon as the sun goes down  
> And you complete the heart of me  
> Our love is all we need  
> Circle in the sand'
> 
> I've said it before, I will say it again - I don't pick the music my characters like. Elissa Cousland-Theirin has an extreme love of 80s pop that only rivals the Iron Bull for cheesiness (She likes cheese, what can I say?). That I already owned the song before I had to listen to it on repeat for this fic and 'Fereldan Locks' means nothing. ;)
> 
> And yes, if you want more of my Cousland and her Cheesy, 'Fereldan Locks' is up to six chapters. I'm never sure if I should mention that I've started something new in existing fics. But it's out there, if you want to read it.

The next day, Elissa and Alistair found Dagna in her workroom, frowning and grinding up Revenant Hearts in a massive mortar. “Oh, hey, Warden! Did you want a go at the pounding? It‘s great stress relief. I just picture somebody that pisses me off and…”

“Someone pisses you off? Perish the thought,” Alistair picked up a viscous looking fluid in a flask and peered at it curiously. Dagna smiled encouragingly in return and took it away, gently but firmly.

“No, as tempting as that is - believe me I would happily grind Eamon's face under a pestle for a few hours… I had something to offer instead,” Elissa took a deep breath, and then blew it out, while unfastening an amulet from around her neck. “It’s… this. The Warden’s Oath. It’s made out of some of the darkspawn blood from my Joining ceremony. We drink it before we become Grey Wardens…”

“Wow,” Dagna stared at the little vial. “That’s… that’s really cool. I… can I touch it?” She squealed.

“Of course,” Elissa relaxed, and handed it over, wrapping her hand around her suddenly naked neck and flushing. She laughed, “I’ve barely taken it off since Alistair gave it to me… only to bathe, really.  It feels strange.” She fiddled with her wedding ring, trying to occupy her hands.

Dagna looked up at her seriously, “The mages don’t know you have this. Neither does the Inquisitor.”

Elissa looked down and didn’t answer.

“I... We… aren’t as comfortable with them,” Alistair muttered. “And we weren’t sure when to mention it. My own broke, I’m afraid to say. And we didn’t know if it mattered…

“This is a mixture of darkspawn blood,” Dagna sniffed. “Huh. I’d love to know what else…”

Elissa glanced up at Alistair, who squeezed her shoulder. “Lyrium,” she whispered. “And a few other things, including the blood of an archdemon. I… I’ll write it down for you, if you promise never to make it with an intention to use it.” She fidgeted, “Maker’s Breath, Cheesy, it’s hard giving up Warden secrets! How in the world did you manage?”

Alistair coughed, “Well, I don’t know as many as you, my dear. That made it easier. My secrets were more personal… but I believe my mother is having just as much trouble. And look how long it’s been for her.”

Dagna tapped her fingers on the worktable, “A compulsion, maybe? Fiona did go back to Weisshaupt after she introduced you to Maric, and saw you safely to Redcliffe… And only then did she go to the Circle in Orlais.” She handed the amulet back and rocked on her stool thoughtfully as Elissa refastened the Oath with shaking hands and an air of relief. “I’ll tell the mages you have it,” she concluded. “But given that the blood is the source of the Warden’s taint, but not necessarily _yours…_ ” she stopped talking, “But is the source essentially the same, if it comes from the same creatures? It certainly seemed that way for the Red Templars… The corruption is the same, and Smith Davri said that red lyrium has the Blight…” She shook herself. “It might create more problems in the ritual than it solves. On the other hand, if you let me take samples…”

“Samples?” Elissa frowned, “What kind of samples?”

“I want to cut off bits of you and do things to them,” Dagna grinned wildly with enthusiasm, “And yes, I know how creepy that sounds. I’ve been through this with the Inquisitor after she came back from the Fade at Adamant.”

The difference in the two leaders’ reactions was immediate. Where Asta had hesitated, and found another way to get the samples Dagna needed, Elissa pressed her lips together, rolled back her sleeve, and confessed, “I… don’t have a lot of sensation left in my skin, anyway. Take blood, skin, whatever you need.”

Dagna gaped at her, and then smiled like Pippa on Satinalia morning. “Ancestors, you really are the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“As long as this works, you can do anything you like,” Elissa thrust up her chin, her mouth twisting. “And don’t worry about hurting me. I heal fast. A few more scars aren‘t going to hurt my looks, either.”

Dagna sighed, looking dreamy, “If I take your blood, I can test what components have the best effect, and use them in runes to improve the wards and regeneration glyphs.”

“Then take my blood,” Elissa offered freely, unsheathing her dagger with her free hand and handing it to the dwarf precisely. “Just… don’t drink it. Wear protective gloves when working with it. And perhaps a helm? One that covers your mouth.”

“And don’t bargain it away to blood mages,” muttered Alistair under his breath. “It’s a good thing we trust you.”

Dagna snorted, ignoring the King of Ferelden, “You want me to treat you like you’re poisonous?”

“I’m more poisonous than any varghest,” Elissa tensed. “Please… just swear you’ll be careful. I‘ve taken enough lives already.”

***

On the day of the winter solstice, Kinloch Hold loomed, crooked, broken, and despondent in Lake Calenhad, surrounded by small ice chunks floating randomly around the island‘s shore. Cullen was staying back at the Spoiled Princess Inn with Ian, who was stubbornly refusing to wean, while Asta took Pippa to the ritual, with Bull prepared to call Asta away via crystal if Cullen took a turn for the worse. Rylen and Evangeline would wait downstairs while the ritual took place - just in case something unexpected appeared through the thin Veil of the Tower.

“We’ll have to beach the boat on the shore,” the boatman warned them. “The old caverns have all caved in since the earthquakes. Tower‘s passable though. Built to last.” He eyed Asta, hooded and cloaked, suspiciously. “Haven’t seen any mages wanting to come back here. You don’t really look like Circle mages… you aren‘t those Venatori blighters, are you?” He narrowed his eyes at Dorian and Petri, who hadn’t said a word, but stood out by the nature of their clothing. “We were warned by Inquisition agents not to…”

Dagna popped out from behind Dorian. “Master Kester! It’s just us again. Sorry to make your grandson do this again so soon. He looks busy with his friends, and there's more of us this time.”

Kester stopped complaining instantly, “Eh, it’s no trouble, Mistress Dagna. Anything for the Inquisition. Kept us from starving to death, they did.  That Corporal Vale's a decent sort.” He smiled at Pippa. “And who’s this? A new apprentice? Been a while since I seen one of those.”

“I’m apprenticed outside of the Circle,” Pippa countered, curtseying.

The man laughed, “Yes, well, you won’t be finding anyone to help you earn your ring and staff over there these days anyway.” He looked thoughtful, “Though, if you folks know of people who are taking on apprentices… I might know a few people that would be mighty interested…” he tapped his nose.

“We’ll talk later,” Asta told him with a smile. “We might be able to find out.”

The trip across the lake was quiet, though Kester’s grandson had a go at chatting to Pippa while he rowed. She didn’t say much, though her face reddened. “I’ll be seeing you, then,” the kid grinned. “Better go get the rest?”

“Right,” Pippa stared at her feet. “I’ve got to go get ready.”

Asta eyed her daughter, “He liked you,” she said smugly as they walked away.

“I’m too young for that stuff,” Pippa huffed. “And we’ve only just met.”

“You have to meet some time. Lake Calenhad’s not that far from South Reach,” Asta teased. "You could use some friends…”

Pippa stared, “No! He’s… too old for me. Probably.”

“Only a year or two,” Asta sighed, “All right, Pip, no more teasing.”

The girl relaxed, “Thanks, Mum. You know Da would freak out, right?”

“Oh, I know,” Asta giggled. “I can’t wait.” They exchanged glances and then Pippa giggled along. “Come on, Pip, top of the Tower.”  The Circle stretched long, with the entrance in shadow.  Asta sighed, "I bet there's a lot of stairs.  Why can't mages make a Circle bungalow?"

***

With the arrival of the other mages, Pippa leapt to work, with Dagna, Dorian, Rhys, Velanna and Petri as assistants. Fiona was asked to stand aside and observe, since her own blood and hair would be involved in the ritual itself. “We can’t risk corrupting the influences,” Pippa explained seriously to the older, more experienced, woman. “Even a single hair could upset the balance of the ward and make it person specific instead of covering the entire area.”

“I quite agree,” the former Grand Enchanter replied, lips twitching as she submitted to the lecture. “Should I place the poppets, once you’ve taken the blood, instead?”

Pippa looked up at Dorian, unsure, “What do you think? Will it matter?”

“Hmm,” Dorian hummed, hand under his chin. “I believe it would be best if they were handled by someone who does not carry the Blight.  Fiona, by her account, cannot be Blighted.  She seems a logical choice.  Also… Fiona desires a certain outcome towards her son and his wife…”

“Oh!” Pippa smiled, “Hope says that is important. We all need to…” she frowned suddenly.

Dorian grinned, “Wouldn’t do to have a pessimist handle the key elements today? Is that the gist of it?”

Pippa nodded sheepishly. “He was going to recommend I do it, but Fiona is better. She wants this to work almost as much as Her Majesty. So I’ll take the blood, Enchanter Fiona, you place the dolls, Her Majesty should do the stabbing, because she wants this so bad for His Majesty, and His Majesty… just has to stand there and hope it works. Hard.”

Petri rose off his knees, “That’s the glyph pattern, Dagna. You have the runes in place?”

“Done!” Dagna bounced upright. “Oh, its been a long time since I got to participate in a full ritual! This is wonderful! I can’t wait to see it work! And even if it doesn’t work, we’ll still be able to determine why! I’ve left traces of lyrium in the fissures of the runes that should record the results, much as they do at the Shaperate…” she realized everyone was staring at her blankly besides Velanna. “Oh, sorry. I… made arrangements for notes, just in case?”

“Good work,” Pippa sucked on her lower lip. “Dorian, are you sure…”

“It will be enough. Trust me.”

Pippa separated the dolls on the nearby work table, stuffing still exposed, and stated, “I’ll need the blood now.”

Elissa and Alistair looked at each other, and sighed. “Well, at least it’s not a Tuesday?” Alistair quipped. “Unless she actually counts as…”

“We’re not using that word,” Elissa reminded him, glancing at the Inquisitor, curled up with a book while the mages worked, trying to stay out of the way. “Do try to remember, Cheesy? Doesn‘t do to alienate the allies, after all.”

Alistair shuddered, ever so slightly, “You certainly have a way of expanding my horizons, my love.”

“With a little luck, this time it will be worth it.”

***

An hour later, Elissa and Alistair faced each other over the runed basin that Dagna had set in the center of the warded circle, the poppets tied together in a stack on a short altar dragged up from the ruined library with great difficulty, and surrounded by another regeneration glyph, on a smaller scale than the one on the floor. Elissa’s face was white with lack of sun and stress, her eyes worried and wrinkled, but fierce and fiery.

“How will we know if it works?” Alistair asked anyone who would answer.

“You’ll stop hearing the Calling,” Fiona stated simply. “That will be the first sign. After that…” she stepped gingerly across the ward line and shoved up Elissa’s sleeve. “Oh, my dear,” her ears drooped. “I had no idea…”

Elissa played with her bunched up sleeve, but didn’t hide the corruption, or the scars. “Yes, well, it’s not only Alistair who’s on borrowed time, but he's the more important one, of the two of us,” she admitted, her other hand going up to the streak of silver in her hair. “So… my skin will clear up, I take it? I‘m not going to look like an albino fly caught in a grimy spider web for the rest of my life?” She was trying to joke, her eyes shifting away from Alistair, who was the only observer who wasn’t surprised at how far it spread.

“Mine did, over time, yes,” Fiona agreed, her eyes sparking in defiance. “And you’ll start to feel warmth and cold again. All sorts of sensations will return - ones you didn‘t even know were missing.”

“Oh,” Pippa gasped. “Oh, Determination likes you, Enchanter Fiona.” She looked awed, “You’ve done so much, because you felt like you had to!” She smiled, “This is going to work,” she announced clearly. “I can feel it. You might as well get started.” She backed out of the room. Fiona skirted the lines gently, careful not to disturb Petri's work, before she reached the side of the altar that was her place, and then stepped forward boldly.

“Close the door, child,” Fiona instructed Pippa, and then lifted her chin, all Grand Enchanter in that moment. “I should warn you, that what I’m about to say borders on the blasphemous, but it has much to do with a theory of mine and the nature of the Chant of Light,” she instructed. “Are you both sure you want me to continue?” Elissa nodded firmly, followed by Alistair’s slightly more hesitant nod. “Then let us begin. When I say ‘cleansed‘, stab the poppets.” She lifted her hands, and the runes and ward flared into a dome over their heads with a faintly hissing static, as the regeneration glyph flared into activity, dyeing everything a pale green.

She began to Chant.

 

“O Maker, hear my cry:

Guide me through the blackest nights.

Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.

Make me to rest in the warmest places.”

 

She shifted to the next side of the altar. Alistair fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable, but Elissa picked up his hand, and laced his fingers through hers, and he relaxed, concentrating on her.

 

“O Creator, see me kneel:

For I walk only where You would bid me.

Stand only in places You have blessed.

Sing only the words You place in my throat.”

 

Elissa mouthed the words, though not a whisper escaped, tightening her hand on her husband’s, as Fiona gracefully glided around to the next side.

 

“My Maker, know my heart:

Take from me a life of sorrow.

Lift me from a world of pain.

Judge me worthy of Your endless Pride*!”

 

Fiona moved to the last side now, her voice nearly desperate with longing.

“My Creator, judge me whole:

Find me well within Your grace.

Touch me with fire that I be cleansed,” she nodded at Elissa who lifted her free hand and struck at the dolls bound together, the dagger sinking deep into their stuffing until it clinked against the stone of the altar below. It smoldered and smoked, and the smell of oranges and dawn lotus escaped, as fresh as if newly picked. Alistair jerked in reflex, as if he expected it to hurt, but Fiona continued seamlessly into the next line, “Tell me I have sung to Your approval.”

She circled back to the beginning and lifted her hands again, her hands glowing with white, pure healing magic so thick it looked like it dripped from her hands like honey.

 

“O Maker, hear my cry:

Seat me by Your side in death.

Make me one within Your glory.

And let the world once again see Your favor.

For You are the fire at the heart of the world,

And comfort is only Yours to give.”

 

With the final word, a flare of healing magic poured out of her whole body and into them both, stunning them. A single ball of fire consumed the dolls entirely, leaving nothing but ashes on the stone altar. Fiona slumped, but when the two moved to support her, she waved them back. “No, we aren’t finished,” she gasped. “I will lower the wards, leave, raise them again, and you will bathe… without an audience,” she twinkled her eyes slightly at her modest son. “After that… we will be finished.”

Alistair and Elissa nodded, still uncomfortable, but willing, if silent. Before she left, Fiona grasped Alistair’s free hand. “I want you to know I love you,” she whispered. “I always did. I‘m proud of who you‘ve become, and I know it had nothing to do with me.” She lowered the wards, and stepped free, and rose them again, back over their heads. “They will fall on their own, given time,” she said hoarsely, backing away and not meeting their eyes. “Don’t cross them until they do,” left the room on shaking legs, pushed the doors open, and then closed them, eyes still averted.

Elissa was already stripping, the dark lines streaking across her body even more obvious. She picked up the cloth in the basin, and beckoned him over with a wink. “You’re just determined to get some fun out of this, aren’t you?” His eyes crinkled up in amusement and he stepped forward. “Best get to it then, before these wards fall.” He stripped his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor deliberately, and moved toward his wife. “Shall we?”

Some time later, Fiona and the others slowly opened the door to the Chamber. The two were dressed, and the ward had fallen, but they were seated in the middle of the chamber, huddled together. Elissa lifted her face from Alistair's shoulder, damp with her tears. “I can still hear it. The song is as loud as ever. I can understand… it won't stop.”

“Before we try again, please… please, can we have a little space…”

“Leave us!” Elissa shoved at the pillar holding the basin with her foot, and the water spilled. “Just… leave us alone, for a bit longer,” she pleaded, only slightly more gently, ignoring the water as it soaked into their clothing, and buried her face back into her husband's chest.

Fiona closed the door. “What happened?!”

Dorian shrugged, puzzled, but more defeated than he wanted to admit. “It should have worked,” he admitted sadly. “Everything was in place…”

Dagna hummed, “When they come out, I’ll check the runes. They’ll tell me something, about whether our set up was faulty, or if there was a mistake with the glyph pattern…” her words trailed off, “but it was all perfect. I was sure, too.”

Petri was silent, but Pippa frowned, and closed her eyes, concentrating hard, tilting her head back, listening intently. “Cole,” she breathed, and turned to run down the flight of stairs to the next level, jumping missing steps agilely. The spirit man met her halfway up. “Cole! What went wrong? It wasn‘t enough?!”

“No, you were right. Release.” He grabbed her hands. “No one listens… tangled and tumbled, they twist in the water, her tears mixing with his, he fights to comfort her. ‘No, my dragon, we haven‘t lost anything. It‘s not over…’” he broke himself off with difficulty. “But that doesn’t help,” he urged. “Wait.” He took Pippa and turned her aside. “Wait here. Don‘t turn around. Not until I say.”

“For how long?” Fiona choked, tears spilling. “How long do we have to…”

“Until its over,” Cole smiled slyly. “We have to wait for…” A shockwave of magical energy, manifested in white light that looked much like Fiona's own magic, burst open the doors of the Harrowing Chamber. “For that,” he finished simply, pointedly not looking. “It’s done now. They need to be alone.”

Fiona nodded dumbly, and turned away.

Dorian watched for a moment, and then sighed, “All right, Pippa. You win this time. What do I owe you for being right all along?” He dug out his purse.

“Keep it,” Pippa closed his hand over the opening. “But… you get to tell Da.”

“Oh, you little…” Dorian hissed, exchanging a look with Asta where the Inquisitor shook her head, denying that she was going to get involved. “That is… that is just…” he smiled, “Very well. I’ll tell your father that I let you participate in a magic ritual involving both sex _and_ blood. You get to explain - or try - that you weren’t actually in the room at the time, and didn‘t witness a damn thing.”

Pippa grinned, “It’s good to make him squirm occasionally. Stretches his mind.”

“Oh, I quite agree,” Dorian curled his moustache, and held his arm out to Fiona. “Shall we, Enchanter?”

“Thank you,” the woman accepted. “I’m feeling the expense of energy, I’m afraid. Not as young as I was the last time I was here!” She chuckled, stepped lightly forward but stopped when they reached the top of the stairs. “Magister Pavus, would you mind if we took a detour?”

Several minutes later, they were in the remains of the Assembly Chamber, and Fiona walked around it, touching a few fallen pillars and cracks in the wall. “This is…” she cleared her throat, “this is where we all almost died,” she explained, and nodded at a scar on the far wall. “I made that. I’m surprised they didn’t find a way to patch it. Probably left it up to warn the mages about the dangers of blood magic or something of the sort,” she snorted derisively. “Nevermind that the mages that belonged in Kinloch weren’t the blood mages at all.” She walked up to the crumbling dais and sat down, stiffly. “I never thought I’d be back here again.” She rose her head, and she looked far younger than her true years, almost as if she was a young mother again. “Except for the last time in Denerim, with Alistair in my arms, this was the last place I saw Maric. When I turned myself into the Circle, I deliberately did so in Orlais, so as not to… complicate matters. Distance seemed wise.”

“You loved him,” Cole stated, gently.

“Oh, I don’t know anything about love,” Fiona huffed. “I was young, and foolish, and just wanted something, someone, good in my life,” she laughed, choking, “And he was the best man I ever met, before I met his son. Our son.” She smiled sadly. “It worked, Maric,” she whispered. “He’ll live. As long as he needs to. I did it.”

Cole walked over and sank down beside her, and Pippa had the same look of awe on her face from earlier, her eyes far away. “He knows,” Cole whispered. “Can’t you feel it? He knows.”

Fiona blinked at him, and two small drops ran down her face. “He does?”

“He does,” Cole smiled brightly. “He had such plans for him. His youngest son, bright and happy, wild and free, tangled with the Mabari puppies in the kennel, muddy and tanned. Rips in his trousers, not worrying over appearances with nosy women fretting over every stain. No shadow of the crown or weight of a throne. He came and watched, too far to be close, just to wish he could draw near. But he knew he was happy, before. Eamon was kind, and he snuck cheese and cookies from Cook on the best days. And now…” Cole leaned back and kicked his feet against the edge of the steps rocking slightly. “And now he has everything.”

“Everything,” Fiona whispered fiercely. “Good. He deserves everything.” And she turned and hid her face in the ex-spirit’s shoulder and cried.

Cole held her, and for once, was completely silent.

***

The two former Wardens tumbled down the stairs at a run, hand in hand, much later, only slowing once they reached the assembly room where they all waited.

“What did you do?” Alistair’s eyes were widened in awe as he addressed his mother. He pulled Elissa’s arm forward, her belled sleeve open at the wrist, and the taint was already fading into nothing, grey now where it was black just a few hours before.

“Neither of us is hearing the Calling,” Elissa whispered, as if her own voice was too loud on its own. “What did you do? The ritual didn’t work! But now this…” she indicated her arm, and settled her hand on the small of Alistair’s back, gently as if she expected the skin to be sensitive there.

“On the contrary,” Dorian was at his smuggest. “I would say it was your own sort of magic. We just… left and let you get on with it?”

“As if it was your idea,” muttered Pippa stubbornly.

“Who is the apprentice here anyway?”

Alistair worked his mouth slowly, eyebrows drawn in, and then closed it without saying a word, but Elissa started to laugh. “Oh, Cheesy, I’m so proud. You worked magic on me, all right.” She smiled wide, winked, and pushed the silver streak of hair behind her ear again. “Want to have another go? I think you might have a hidden gift for sex magic. Should I call for a Templar? Ser Evangeline is probably already across the lake…or would you prefer Rylen?”

Alistair looked at all of them, and then smiled, his eyes narrowing in merry wrinkles, and grabbed her against him, picked her up in the air and spun. She tipped her head back and laughed at his enthusiasm. “Anytime. Just say the word.” He dropped her rather abruptly, grabbed both sides of her face and pulled her in to his lips, only pulling back to observe, “Perhaps dear old Da was onto something after all, with doing it in strange places,” he kissed her again, short and tender. “There’s an inn across the lake. I remember clearly. I bet they have beds there… if you can wait that long, milady dragon.”

Elissa laughed like a bell rings, water leaking from her eyes. “But what about our audience?”

“If they don’t like it, they can stuff it,” Alistair grinned, “This time I’m taking what I want.” He kissed her again, deeply, wrapping his arms behind her back, and she returned the kiss tenfold.

Fiona hid her mouth behind her hands, eyes filled with tears yet again.

“They have everything,” Cole whispered, and Pippa took his hand.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Or at least… they will.  Probably.”

Cole frowned, “You shouldn’t have done that without their permission. But…” he smiled briefly, only to force an odd frown onto his face instead, as stiff as a mask. “But you helped. I don‘t think they mind? But you shouldn‘t do it again!” The admonition was odd sounding, as if he didn’t quite mean it, though he felt he should say it.

Asta eyed her daughter cautiously, “Pippa, what did you do?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t have happened on its own. Probably. Don‘t worry so much, Mum.” She turned and made her way down the steps. “I’m hungry. That inn does food, right?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Capitalization mine. Sorry, Bioware, for altering the Chant in a very minor way.
> 
> This whole section is one of the reasons I think Solas is the Maker. In these stanzas, the Maker and 'My Creator' are used interchangeably. That's not a coincidence. I'm sure of it. Also the reference to 'Your Endless Pride'. Come on, you have to give me this one.
> 
> Solas=the Maker. The Chantry is a Solas-worshipping cult, and Andraste was his prophet.
> 
> If anyone wants the details of the Dragon Age Lore (TM) that I used here, let me know and I'll break down the many conversations I had with iduna about this ritual. And yeah, I know that this cure won't work on everyone - but case by case basis, right? Besides, some Wardens probably won't want to be cured.
> 
> And as far as Fiona's theories on the Chant of Light - well, every good Potterhead knows that Transfigurations is a class at Hogwarts. :D I think several portions of the Chant of Light are spells - the sort of rituals that are, as Corypheus says once, 'years in the making'. And Solas says about Elvhenan there were rituals that took decades to finish.
> 
> I think the bit about the Chant needing to be sung at the four corners of the world before the Maker will return is more like a ritual instruction - it might be done using a map, perhaps, or just is a reference to the cardinal directions that are often (according to iduna, who is the expert here) used in spellwork.
> 
> It takes days and days for the Chant to be completed in entirety. And mages aren't allowed to serve in the Chantry. What if they were?! What if there was a reason for that?
> 
> Just a theory!


	75. Mirror Image

They met back at the Spoiled Princess, the stuffy windowless interior smelling of a hundred ancient meals, and the dim lighting nearly hiding Cullen holding Ian in the corner, with Bull and Rylen chatting to the disgruntled innkeeper. The baby’s face lit up at Asta’s appearance and he kicked his father to reach her. “Some of us missed you,” Cullen admitted sheepishly. “Is Pippa all right?”

“You missed me already? It was only a few hours,” Asta smiled and kissed him, and took the baby, who started rooting into her shoulder. “Really, Ian? I guess I’d better feed him.” She made her way to the door that lead to the sleeping chambers, and Cullen followed her.

Cullen fidgeted as she made her way across the small room, to open the curtains and let a little light into the gloomy interior. “I was wondering - do you think we could do something, the Inquisition, I mean, in remembrance for Kinloch? Like they did at Dairsmuid? A stone, in memory?”

“That’s a lovely idea,” Asta settled on the bed with her son, sighing. “Perhaps one of the mages can work something out - there’s plenty of stone around here, after all - but if not, we’ll ask around about a stonemason when we get home. Maybe Rylen knows somebody? His family works in stone, don‘t they?”

Cullen snorted slightly, as he watched her feed Ian, the baby’s hand sprawled out over her chest, eyes buttoned shut in infant bliss. “He says they’re bricklayers.” He was silent for a moment, until with a deep sigh, asked what he really wanted to know, “And Pippa is…”

“She’s fine, love,” Asta assured him. “She had barely anything to do with the actual ritual, whatever Dorian insinuates later. It was mostly Fiona, from what I could tell. Pippa took the blood. Sewed up the dolls. Her presence was necessary for Hope’s sake, not for her own. You don‘t want the details, and I‘m not going to tell you anything else.” She held out her prosthesis, reaching for him, and he settled next to her on the bed. “Are you all right?”

“I will be.” He kissed her head, and drew her towards him slightly, closing his eyes. “I’m very glad it’s over. It is over, isn‘t it?”

Asta wasn’t sure how to answer.

***

In the main room, Pippa was eating her way through her second bowl of stew, and listening to her elders argue.

“What nonsense,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Minaeve. These Southern Harrowings do nothing but attract the worst sort of attention! My Harrowing was a rite of passage, true, but I prepared for years! To thrust your mages into the Fade completely unaware of the dangers…”

“We prepare for years as well,” Minaeve tossed back. “I could argue we know more of the dangers than you do.”

“All the while being warned off any desire to explore, to learn, to develop your abilities,” Petri grumbled. “The fact that the whole thing is run by Templars…”

“It is not!” Evangeline leaned forward. “Ideally, we are there only…”

Rhys restrained her, “You’re there to kill us if we become abominations, or take too long,” he reminded her.

“I was going to say ‘to observe’,” Evangeline grumbled.

“Maybe you were observing,” Rhys twinkled, “but I know for a fact that the Templar who was holding the sword over my Harrowing actually had a bet that I’d come out an abomination. My talents were so unusual, you see…”

Evangeline was horrified, “That’s despicable!”

Rhys shrugged, “I don’t know about that. I won fifty silvers that day. It’s a pleasant memory. Though if he had won, I don’t know how I possibly would have paid him… but he wasn‘t the brightest sword on the weapons rack.” Evangeline sighed, tilting her head in the direction of her lover. “I was very persuasive, even then,” he laughed and the other mages joined him.

“You’re horrible, Rhys.” Evangeline hid a smile. “Betting against your own survival?”

“Who better?” Rhys toasted her genially over his success at diffusing the tension in the room. “Gave me another reason to live. I didn’t have fifty silvers.”

Petri jostled Pippa’s arm, “So, Mage Apprentice Philippa…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“…how was your first formal ritual?”

“I didn’t do anything except feed my will into Fiona,” Pippa mumbled around her spoon. “Just like the rest of you. It took a lot of effort and focus. I’m starving. Let me eat.” The mages chuckled, exchanging knowing glances. “And it wasn’t my first ritual.”

“Your first ritual,” Dorian said dreamily and fondly. “You never forget it. I remember mine so well… my father needed to scry upon a rival, and asked for my help - the man was known to have exceptional wards and even then I was known as something of a prodigy - not unlike yourself, Pippa, my dear.”

“Did it work?” Petri grinned, and sipped his wine.

“Of course not,” Dorian scoffed. “Father was an excellent mage, but his opponent’s wards were a work of art. His paranoia - well justified paranoia, mind you - exceeded our combined talents. The lyrium basin smoked for three days, and Father squinted for six, the flash was so bright.” He fiddled with his own wineglass’ stem. “Happier days.”

Petri snorted, “At least your father let you try. With four older brothers known for trouble, when mine let me into his workroom, he would just tell me to sit still and not touch anything. Mother was more patient.” He squinted at Minaeve, who seemed uncomfortable. “Still, better than being raised to fear…”

“Petrinius, stop,” she instructed firmly. “I passed my Harrowing. I defeated those demons. I needed to.”

“Of course you did,” Petri assured her, quickly, “but you should have been prepared for it from a child, taught healthy caution, not instructed that you were too weak to resist…”

“Petri. Stop.”

He sighed and dropped it. “Yes, Amata.” He patted her leg under the table, and she took his hand and squeezed it.

Dorian cast another sidelong glance at Pippa, “So - how do the Avvar manage?”

“Do what?” Pippa laid down her spoon next to her empty bowl and grabbed a small loaf of bread.

“Harrowings? Do they even…”

Pippa’s eyes grew distant, “Not exactly. They… see spiritual influences differently. Like - a mirror, I guess? To some degree, you know what to expect when you look into a mirror - your own reflection, and the reflection of the space around you. If you look into a mirror and you see something that you don’t expect - a distortion - like those silly mirrors at the Satinalia Festival that made you look too skinny. Any spirit can be corrupted, yes, but they seem to think it safer to assume that a spirit is the better version of itself. They expect to see the more positive reflection, not the frightening one. Hakkon Wintersbreath was an exception…”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “Oh, and that is an extreme case, is it? Fasta Vass…”

“Language, Pavus,” Petri warned. “Pippa’s learning modern Tevene.”

“The most extreme. Those Avvar summoned him deliberately to draw out the worst qualities of their god. A focused intention out of a desire for strength and to overcome their enemies,” Pippa clarified, “Otherwise, they believe that a spirit is unlikely to be corrupted until it comes into contact with a person. To subject their village’s spirits to something like a Harrowing is considered more of a risk for the spirit than for the mage. With cause, if you ask me. Most spirits do not come out the better, if they come out of the Harrowing at all. It’s a waste. The teaching spirits volunteer, and no spirit is forced upon an unwilling mage. Both souls have to be willing, and they use a - a guarding invocation to prevent the spirit from being unduly influenced. It still fails, occasionally, but only when both spirit and mage are in agreement.”

“That bit about having to be willing sounds familiar,” mused Dorian, frowning. “Something Asta said, I think, after she met Mythal in the Fade?”

“I’ll ask Mum,” Pippa grabbed another small loaf of bread. “Hopefully they’ll be out soon. I think the innkeeper is worried Mum and Da won’t cover everything we‘re eating.” She eyed Dorian’s wine. “I don’t suppose I could…”

“Your father would kill me,” Dorian blinked, and then smiled, and shoved the glass in her direction. “One sip. I’ll tell your parents. It’s a celebration, after all,” he beamed fondly. “I had wine with dinner every night as a child.”

“That explains a lot,” Rhys snorted into his own cup.

“It wasn’t my first ritual,” Pippa pointed out again. “I did the one that summoned Hope.”

“Oh, some clumsy shamanistic Avvar thing,” Dorian sniffed. “It hardly counts.”

“Don’t be racist,” Pippa stuffed her mouth full of bread. “It doesn’t become you, Dorian.”

***

Three days later, after Dagna had collected all her runestones, and babbled on about the science behind the cure until their eyes had all glazed over, and Velanna had pried the King and Queen out of the best accommodations the Spoiled Princess had to offer with well-placed sarcasm, they were ready to go, and leave Kinloch once again to fall into ruins.

“I suppose we have to go back to collect Teagan, the stubborn fool,” Alistair groused. “Why couldn’t he just go back to Denerim? Then we could travel direct instead of hoofing it all over the country creating a spectacle…” he was distracted by his wife, who frowned at the horse provided her. “Come on, my dragon, the horsey won’t hurt you. You made it all the way here, after all.”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt it,” Elissa corrected. “I’m horribly out of practice, Alistair. I’ll probably never be completely comfortable on a horse again after all these years spent mostly underground. I don‘t suppose we have time to just walk to South Reach? Walking worked during the Blight!”

“You could ride with me,” Alistair managed to look innocent and leer at the same time.

“That will only get us into trouble, even if a horse could handle two of us in heavy plate, and we‘ll never get back to Denerim. You do have a country to rule, whether you like it or not,” Elissa sighed, and then addressed the horse grumpily, “All right, you don’t like it, and I don’t like it, but I need to get where I’m going without a fuss. Don’t throw me, or walk under low hanging branches, and I’ll give you carrots when we stop for the night. Deal?” The horse nickered lightly. “Why couldn’t you be a Golem? Shale was always good for a ride, if you could cope with her dry humor and sudden lunges towards pigeons.”

Cole nudged Asta, “I didn’t know she could talk to horses.”

Asta snickered, “She can’t.”

Cole frowned, “Yes, she can. The horse talked back.”

The Warden mounted, somehow even paler than before. “Shit, I can’t get used to this,” she muttered. “It’s too tall. Fergus would be laughing his head off right now… after all the bragging I did about riding better than he did when I was a kid… oh sweet Maker, I need to write to Fergus… he‘s going to rip me a new one. Alistair, can we just banish him?” Her husband laughed at her, but gently.

“The dracolisks are a bit lower to the ground,” Asta offered dubiously. “But they’re faster… and Asuna bites…”

“My baby doesn’t bite,” Bull argued instantly. “She’s a lady! She nips politely. In love.”

“Maker’s Mercy, not one of those… lizard things,” the Queen went green. “I’ll get used to this. Just… take it slow?”

It took several days at the Warden’s slow pace to get back to South Reach. They rode the last miles in softly falling snow, not heavy enough for danger, or cold enough for complaints, with the Queen growing more and more tense as they drew closer.

They arrived at Argyll at last, and Arl Teagan exited the house with Bryland and Josie right behind him, only to stop short when he saw the Queen, who nervously stroked her hair behind her ear, her hood having slipped behind her head, slowly filling with the gentle snowflakes. “Your Majesty… you‘ve returned!”

“Which one?” Alistair grinned irrepressibly, “Arl Bryland, you might remember my wife, the Hero of Ferelden and the former Warden Commander of Ferelden, Queen Elissa Theirin?”

“Does that mean… you succeeded?” Teagan held onto the side of the house.

“Quite thoroughly,” Alistair beamed proudly. “Of course, there was no doubt. Milady dragon doesn’t give up so easily.” He dismounted, and raised his arms to help her off her horse. “Miracle worker, that’s my bride. Sorry, Teagan, you‘re stuck with us. Might as well hire the assassins now to stage your bloody coup. I’m sure Anora would lend a hand from Gwaren with the expenses. I can recommend a former Crow… and Bull here has an exemplary mercenary group for hire…”

Elissa laughed feebly, and shook herself free of the collected snow, white against her brown and silver hair. “Teagan, I assume that Eamon will have all the replacement candidates for my position emptied out of the palace before we return? I don‘t want to see a single one remaining. I don‘t care whose feelings I injure.”

“I’ll see to it myself, Your Majesty,” Teagan whispered, pale as a ghost. “I’ll leave for Denerim tomorrow, and spread the word.”

“Good,” she nodded, “I’ll write to Weisshaupt before we leave here and inform them of our success. It’s a little problematic,” she swayed suddenly, and Alistair caught her. “Sorry,” she smiled worriedly. “I think the Cure’s left me a little off balance. That or riding the horse.” She folded her arms defensively across her breastplate. “You can let go now, Cheesy. I‘m not going to fall.”

Alistair frowned stubbornly and gripped her hips firmly. “I haven’t been dizzy.”

“My taint had progressed further,” she reminded him gently. “Comes with killing the archdemon with nothing but a cheese knife and a bottle of Lavaburst. Aren‘t you glad I landed the killing blow now?”

“Always stealing my kills,” Alistair smiled fondly. “I was the senior Warden, you know…”

Josie clucked, “Where are my manners? Come in, have a cup of tea, Your Majesty - or perhaps… something stronger, to celebrate?” She clapped her hands, “Champagne it is! Or perhaps… I believe I still have some Flames of our Lady?”

The woman nodded, shoving up her sleeve to check her arm. It remained clear, and she relaxed, letting the sleeve fall again. “I would appreciate something warming, Ambassador. Perhaps something to help me sleep, however. I have been restless, on the road.”

“I would be happy to assist in the drafting of any letters, as well,” Josie beamed, following the sovereigns inside. “Allow me to offer you the use of our ravens for any missives… the ravens won‘t quite reach the Anderfels, but we can send them to Kirkwall first, and then forward them on, with a fresh bird, if you like. I can assure you our Spymaster in Kirkwall is the height of discretion…” Asta snorted. “He is, Inquisitor,” she scolded gently.

“That would be wonderful,” Alistair grinned. “The scribes back home quote me word for word. Not an ounce of respect to be had.”

Cullen and Asta followed more gradually, after the Arls and with the children, excusing themselves to deliver their bags to their room. “I suppose we have to go back downstairs and bloody celebrate,” grumbled Cullen, eying their bed wistfully.

“It would be rude not to,” Asta agreed calmly, setting Ian on the bed and beginning to pull off the baby’s winter things. “I imagine they’ll be gone in the next couple of days, and that’s if they don’t remove to the Keep instead. Bryland would be happy to play the host to the newly returned Queen of Ferelden, I’m sure.”

“We’re the more important ally, though,” Cullen groused further. “We’ll never be rid of him, will we?”

Asta watched him narrowly, “You don’t dislike your King.”

“Of course not,” Cullen looked shocked, “Did I give you the impression… no. It’s just that he’s a bit like the sort of Mabari who will always try to sleep on your lap, even when he weighs 150 pounds and is longer than you are tall…” Asta started to laugh, “Well, he is,” Cullen’s mouth twitched. “He’s a very nice man, otherwise. And does a fine job, with most things, however he attempts to blame it on his advisors.”

“Blaming things on my advisors always worked for me,” Asta teased, setting Ian on the floor to make a rapid scoot for freedom.

Cullen caught her around her waist, “Oh did it? And how would you feel to have a few less advisors to blame for your every mistake?”

Asta’s face fell, “Josie’s going through with the marriage to that Count, is she?”

“That’s what Rylen says,” Cullen stated lowly. “She told him before we left, so that he could spend a few days getting used to the idea of her leaving. I expect she’ll tell us soon. I don‘t imagine he‘ll stay here much longer after that. He’ll probably go back to Kirkwall, and work with the Seekers. I hope to convince him to give up the lyrium first, and stay with us while he goes through the worst. You haven‘t known misery until you‘ve spent an entire sea voyage seeing things that aren’t there and vomiting.”

“It’s idiotic, this betrothal,” Asta rubbed her forehead, “And, I suppose, expected. I would likely have been in her place, after all, had Mother kept me home.”

“You were never meant for Ostwick or any noble,” Cullen murmured against her neck, and kissed it lightly. Asta tilted her head and giggled.

“You say the sweetest things. But none of that,” she scolded. “We have to get back downstairs.”

Cullen let her go, and tiptoed up behind his son, who had pulled himself up on the glass doors that opened to their little balcony, staring outside intently at the falling snow. “Come on, Pup,” he sighed, swinging him upside down so that he squealed with joy, and then righting him gently and firmly against his shoulder, “Your mother says we have to go be patriotic.”

“Or just polite,” Asta corrected, following them out and shutting the door. “You can disagree with their politics as much as you like. I have a suspicion that your sovereigns would find it refreshing. Teagan, not as much, but who gives a tinker‘s damn what he thinks after the Exalted Council?”

“Josie, that‘s who,” laughed Cullen.

“Got it in one, love.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to get into my theories on the nature of spirits here - and I think the lore backs me up pretty well. All that stuff earlier about it being a shadow of the 'real world' isn't accurate at all. Instead, the Fade works more like a mirror - 'a pale reflection' if you like. And you can't say the reflection isn't real (explaining Solas' insistence 'that they are both real'.)
> 
> In other words: despite all evidence to the contrary, this chapter is important. :D


	76. The Crown Lies Heavy

Several days later, the sovereigns were still in residence, much to Cullen’s increasing impatience.

“I won’t have it!” Alistair was stern as he seldom was. “Let them remove me from the throne if they don’t like it! Put Fergus on there, or even Teagan. A few less secrets all around would be a vast…”

“I can’t…” Fiona wrung her hands. “What people will think, Your Majesty… look at who I am. What I‘ve done! I tried to treat with the Imperium! No one will believe…”

“I don’t care what people think,” Alistair fumed, and Elissa stepped up to stand with him. “I want you with me, Mother. And my name is Alistair. Don‘t you think you should use the name you gave me occasionally? I mean, if your own mother can‘t remember your name…”

“We’re not leaving until you come with us,” Elissa stated softly. “We are alive to rule, because of you. Alistair is your son. And you aren’t coming as an arcane advisor or any other fluffy title that we can make up. You’re coming as yourself, as the Mother of the King. Neither of us has so much family that we can just pretend you don‘t exist.”

“You are alive because of Pippa and Dagna. My mistakes are too many - no one will just accept that an elf, the former Grand Enchanter, the leader of the rebel mages could ever be… They‘ll assume I‘m using blood magic to control you!”

“Then…” Alistair turned to Cullen and Asta - silent hostages at the breakfast table to the royals’ argument - deliberately, “Horribly sorry about this. But while I was always told I got my stubbornness from Maric, apparently it was my Mamae instead.” He squinted slightly, “I don’t think I pronounced that right. Velanna said that was the word… but it sounds funny. Never have been any good at languages. I‘d better ask Teagan to find me a tutor.”

“I can’t go,” Fiona insisted, flushing.

“You can, you just don’t want to,” Alistair smiled indulgently. “Not a problem. I‘ll wait until you change your mind.” He turned back to Asta, “We’ll contribute to household expenses of course. I know I’ve eaten my weight in cheese since I got here. Elissa hasn’t said anything, but I know I’m lacing… things looser. And if the Joining made us start cramming food, being Cured affects my wife the same way. Did you see her at dinner? All over gravy.”

“I was a pig,” she laughed, and nudged him. “It’s nice to taste things again, that’s all. I do apologize for my… enthusiasm. I do have table manners, I swear, but nothing has ever tasted so good as simple Fereldan food… just like Nan used to make. Just thinking of that roast last night makes me drool…” she dabbed at the corner of her mouth politely. Josie hid her face behind her teacup.

“So… we’ll be staying, until Mamae comes with,” Alistair finished, not so succinctly. “So sorry for being rude, my Mother wasn’t around to teach me manners.”

“Mine was, but she despaired of me,” Elissa broke in. “We’re a fine pair.”

“You‘re doing a far better job, from what I can tell, other than the… spirit thing?” Alistair offered dubiously inclining his head politely in the two children‘s direction.

Fiona buried her face in her hands. “Alistair, I…” her shoulders shook, either with laughter or tears, or both. “Don’t…”

“You can’t get rid of me again so easily! Eamon will thank his stars that you‘ve finally returned to take over the raising of me, I have no doubt. I‘ve been an endless amount of trouble for him, over the years,” Alistair smiled, but with the steel of determination glinting underneath. “So sorry for ruining your life… I tend to do that to the people I love…”

Elissa grabbed his arm, and glared at him, their light banter ended in a moment. “Don’t,” she stated firmly. “You’ve done nothing of the sort. She‘s lucky to have you as a son. Anyone would be.”

Fiona rushed out, ears drooping, but undeterred, Alistair took out his coin purse and clinked several gold into the Ambassador’s free hand. “That should cover it up through today,” he stated seriously, curling her stunned palm shut. “I really have eaten a lot of cheese.”

Elissa sighed. “Cheesy, might I suggesting talking to your mother without an audience?”

“No, because then she’ll try to make me angry so I’ll leave her alone,” Alistair nodded seriously. “I’m more like her than she realizes. If it were my bastard son that was determined not to give me up, and I didn’t think I was good for him, I would say something bitter and cruel so that he would go back to Morrigan and never want to see me again. So… I’m not going to give her the opportunity.”

Josie sighed, her shoulders nearly creaking with the movement, they were so stiff with discomfort.

Elissa sighed in turn, “Fine, then come lay down with me. I need a nap after all that, and you’ll make sure I actually sleep and not pace and wonder why Weisshaupt hasn’t replied yet. Even though its been too soon to hear.”

“’Twould be my pleasure,” Alistair beamed.

The monarchs removed themselves and Asta cleared her throat in Josie’s direction, after exchanging a tense glance with Cullen. “So… have you heard from Otranto?”

“Who?!” Josie blinked. “Oh… yes, Inquisitor. I’m supposed to go meet him in Val Royeaux sometime in the next month. To… finalize the contract. The wedding won‘t be immediate, of course, but it‘s best to have these things taken care of long before the planning starts. Antivan weddings take…”

“You know it’s not necessary, Josie,” Asta broke in gently. “I know you are concerned for your family but…”

“He would have to call it off himself,” Josie stated firmly. “Otherwise my family’s reputation, everything I’ve done to improve our standing would fall apart in an instant. So… I’ll marry him. All my contacts say he‘s a decent sort, if inclined to… exuberance… But that doesn‘t bode ill. I‘m sure we‘ll be as happy as most arranged marriages. Perhaps even as fortunate as my parents.” She stood, “I should deposit these coins in the safe. Pray, excuse me.”

She failed to see Rylen standing in the opposite entrance, watching her hopelessly. After she left he walked in and collapsed onto the chair opposite Cullen. “That‘s it, my friend,” he announced to Cullen. “I’m giving up lyrium. I already feel like my heart’s stopping. I might as well make it official.” His melodrama was tempered with a sword roughened hand drawn over his face. “I don’t suppose one of you could talk Cole into putting me out of my torment?”

Asta hummed, looking out the way that Josie had gone. “Actually, I think you should challenge Otranto to a duel for Josie‘s hand.”

Rylen started laughing sarcastically. “Right, so some mamby-pamby noble can run me through in the midst of withdrawals? That would be a way to get her to look at me, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, she’s doing more than looking, I’d say,” Asta smiled sly. “You saw her on Satinalia, right? If that wasn‘t all for you, I‘ll eat my Mabari helm.”

Rylen shuddered pleasurably. “I saw more than you realize. Do you realize that she‘s pierced her…” he stopped. “That’s private. Sorry. She‘d never forgive me.”

“That’s funny, Leliana told me that she was… inexperienced,” Asta stated primly.

Rylen snorted, “She told me the same. I was all prepared to woo her, take my time, draw it out and make it a good experience. Instead, she scaled me like a cliff and rode me like a…” he cleared his throat. “She asked me for discretion. I thought I was doing pretty good until just now. But shit, Inquisitor, I‘m all messed up about this. At first I was just there when she needed someone after Cullen broke the news about Blackwall, but… I‘ve cared for ages. She‘d just never fucking look at me.” His eyes were shadowed and creased with weariness. “Now she’s looking, and she’s still walking away. Maker, her parents would hate me anyway. My family says we‘re stonemasons when we‘re being fancy.”

“Probably not hate you, if your affair is posed in the correct fashion,” Asta mused, “I’ve met her sister - she fancies herself an artist. Her father is an artist. Her siblings, she claims, are incapable of shouldering the burden of the family affairs. The whole lot of them sound like bloody romantics. Except perhaps for her mother - who sent her to finishing school in Val Royeaux, where Josie promptly became a bard, of all the unlikely things. I have a suspicion our Josie takes after both her parents.”

“So… she’s the most practical of romantics?” Cullen shook his head. “That does sound like Josie.”

“I’ll do some snooping, figure out Count Otranto’s address, and you’ll send the raven. Challenge him. He’s probably some mincing noble that’s never picked up a sword except to look pretty, and you’ll walk out of there easy.”

Cullen broke in, “Old man, before you’re too hard on yourself, let’s face the truth. This Otranto, whoever he is, is never going to be a good match for the scariest woman in Thedas. He’ll either hate her or let her walk all over him. Neither way will she be happy. Even you aren’t going to keep up with her - and you ran Griffon Wing like a fine timepiece. No one could have done it better. But you have the balls to try. And one more thing…” Cullen leaned back, “Go ask Leliana’s permission to court her. That way you don’t have the Divine threatening to slit your throat and make it look like an accident if you hurt her.”

Rylen blinked, stunned at their encouragement, while Asta stood, walked around the table and slapped his back. “Gonna go snoop now. Go see if Dagna can provide you with a rapier. That‘s an order, Rylen.”

As Asta left, Rylen let his head slump to the back of the chair, stretching his legs out. “Cullen?”

“Yes, old man?”

“She’s too young for me. By something like an entire age.”

“Yeah, but that didn’t stop you, did it?” Cullen snickered. “Didn’t stop her, either.”

“No, it didn’t, for some Maker-be-damned reason,” his Maker’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Your wife’s so clever that she’s insane, but my sort-of-girl’s Antivan, and so is her fiancé, so I’ve got you beat on the crazy front. I‘m probably gonna be assassinated as soon as I arrive in Val Royeaux. The Crows, you think? Can‘t see an Antivan going with an Orlesian guild…”

“Old man, you are a braver man than I.” Cullen sighed, “But Josie deserves to be happy. She’s sacrificed so much for all of us. These last few weeks, she’s seemed… different. I think you might be responsible for that.”

Rylen snorted, “Damn, she really is innocent.” He paused, “Cullen, if I win this duel, I am going to give up the lyrium. Assuming she’s still, you know, interested after I mix her up in a scandal that will be talked about in Val Royeaux at least until Wintersend. Will,” he cleared his throat, “will you help me? If I’ve got her, I don’t want to lose what little mind I have left…”

“I told you, anytime you said the word,” Cullen assured him. “Now, go see Dagna, and quit being sappy.” He reached his hand out to stop him, “But why the Void did you dress like a Chantry brother for Satinalia?”

Rylen grinned, “I was encouraging confessions, of course. It worked. Like a pony, Cullen.” He winked and left, whistling a song about a girl from Rialto Bay.

Cullen merely laughed. “Good luck, old man. You‘re going to need it.”

***

A few days later, Alistair, Cullen and Elissa were out in the newly finished training ring out to the north side of the house, sweating in the winter sunshine as they pretended to kill each other.

“Hey, Cullen!”

Cullen blocked with his shield, and sidestepped the Queen’s scissoring swipe in his direction, only to fall into a backward roll. Bull grunted in approval. “Little busy, Bull,” he panted.

“Can see that. When are you going to be done showing off for the Boss?”

Cullen gritted his teeth, trying to focus. The King was circling towards him slowly, but he couldn’t move without putting himself at risk from the man’s wife - the more dangerous target. “She’s indoors.”

“Nah, she’s watching from her balcony.”

“If you’re trying to make me lose…”

“I just need the ring, is all,” Bull protested, with a slow blink of his one eye at the Queen who was looking for an opening. “Grim’s getting soft.” Cullen reached out with one leg, while pressing forward towards Alistair, setting him off balance, and swept him off his feet.

“I yield,” the King said immediately, and Cullen pressed his advantage in the other direction. “Make him pay for injuring my dignity, my love? It‘ll be bruised for quite some time, I fear.”

“Of course,” the Queen smirked and begun to rain down a flurry of blows with her two swords, one after the other until all Cullen could do was block. She was impossibly fast, despite her lack of Warden stamina, and he was driven to his knee, his shield raised, as she disarmed him with a twist.

Cullen grunted, and rolled sideways, grabbing his sword from where it had fallen.

“Shit, I thought I had you!” She laughed. “I’d recruit you for the Wardens in a moment.”

“I admit, I’ve never fought a dual wielding warrior before. This is all new. Templars encouraged the use of shields, or greatswords, mainly.”

“Oh, then you’ll never have seen this!” The Queen tucked and rolled so that she came up behind Cullen before he could account for her swift movement and stood in a single movement, both swords crossed across his throat. “Do you yield?”

“With pride.” She let the practice swords fall, and Cullen laughed. “That was most enlightening.” A series of cheers came from the balcony and Elissa bowed in Asta‘s direction. “I would enjoy sparring against you again, Your Majesty.” He glanced up at his wife with a wry look. “Even if it means I lose in front of an audience.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Elissa glanced at Alistair, where he still sat against the fence. “Cheesy, are you actually hurt?” she followed his gaze, to where he was staring.

Grim stood behind Bull, and Alistair swallowed, “Excuse me, Ser, I think we‘ve… met?”

Bull snorted, “That’s Grim. One of my guys. He… doesn’t talk much. I’m pretty sure he’s the king of some…”

“Cailan?” Elissa breathed with sudden recognition. “It can’t be… he‘s…”

“Shit,” Bull muttered. “Look - he can’t talk. No…”

“The darkspawn - they took your tongue?” Elissa’s face pinched. “They do that… for trophies. Holy Maker, I‘m so sorry. If I had known, I would have…”

“Cailan!” Alistair stood shakily. “You‘re…” The man held up a hand, palm outward, and shook his head, his eyes sad and angry. “But… you’re alive! Anora…”

A guttural grunt slipped from the man’s lips, and Bull nodded. “Yeah, lay off my guy, Your Majesty. You can’t prove…”

Alistair shut his eyes, bleak. “Won’t you at least…”

Grim shook his head again and rested his hand on Bull’s arm. “Yeah, go back to camp. I’ll get this sorted out, Grim, my man,” Bull rumbled. “Just… be there when I get back, all right? Don‘t go anywhere until we talk about this.” Bull folded his arms across his chest, so that all his muscles bulged. “We got a problem, Your Majesty?”

“No, we don’t,” Elissa answered for Alistair. “Though if the Landsmeet knew…”

“Grim’s not the King of anywhere. He’s Grim,” Bull pressed. “If he ever was - that part of him is long gone. Left behind at Ostagar.”

“Who did we burn at Ostagar? Who was on that pyre?” Alistair muttered.

Bull shrugged, “Body double, maybe? Always thought it was weird that he was allowed to charge in the front lines like that. Figured your general was trying to get him killed - especially after what I heard about what Loghain did to the Wardens. But what I know of my Grim - he would have seen the trap. He‘s got a head for strategy. Like he was raised that way, studying the best. One of the reasons I figured he was royalty. If he had a voice, I'd promote him under Krem.  Plus, he loves the cushy life. Never really took to a merc camp. He has more pillows in his tent…”

“Anyone could have been in the armor, as long as they looked enough like him to fool people from a distance. A helm hides many sins, and he had been dead for months by the time we…” Elissa muttered, her forehead creased. “Bull - are you sure he won’t even speak to us?”

“In the Chargers, your past doesn’t matter. I’m not changing that rule for anyone, even you.” He cleared his throat, “Look, I like you two. It’s not personal, all right? But I protect my boys. Period.”

“If Cailan is alive, then Duncan died for nothing!” Alistair said, shoving himself forward, still shaking, and as pale as a ghost. “Duncan died at Ostagar protecting…”

“Alistair,” Elissa whispered, “Duncan died a Warden’s death. It was hardly for nothing. That‘s the way he would have wanted it.” He shook her hand free, and stood tall, and turning, marched back into the house. “Alistair,” she called after him, and followed, leaving the practice swords in the dirt.

“Well, shit,” Bull cleared his throat. “Sorry, Cullen. Didn’t know - I mean, I had my suspicions, but nothing solid… I would‘ve sent him off with Krem on the cleanup crew to Redcliffe if I had known.”

“It’s all right, Bull,” Cullen sighed. “As long as Grim is happy…”

Bull snorted, “He’s called ‘Grim’ for a reason. Least happy man I‘ve ever met. Guess now I know why.”

Cullen’s mouth twitched. “I’ll back you up, then. Best no one else knows. If it‘s even true.”

“Somehow, I don’t think His Majesty will just let it go.” Bull glanced up at the balcony, but Asta had already gone inside. “But I would worry more about the Boss. She doesn’t like people lying about who they are. Not after Thom. And Solas.  People kind of make it a habit around her, actually.”

“I’ll… talk to her,” Cullen offered uncomfortably. “If you think it best.”

“Just don’t want her nagging my boy, but if she doesn‘t know it won‘t happen,” Bull cleared his throat. “Has a right to the life he’s built, instead of the one he was born into. Am I right?”

Cullen didn’t know how to answer. “Seems a bit unfair to the current King, if that’s the case.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a headcanon. Bull's 'I think he's a king of some small island or something' (and I'm paraphrasing - I didn't look up the exact cutscene this time) made me wonder - but seriously, Grim looks more like Cailan than Alistair looks like Alistair, or Cullen like Cullen.
> 
> Just saying. I don't think that was Cailan's body at Ostagar. The darkspawn took the real Cailan's tongue, and left him for dead. He survived, despite everything.
> 
> Ah, Bioware, the only game company that plays with their gamers' souls like tarot cards.


	77. A Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the headcanons.

Asta hummed over the open books and maps of the Brecilian Forest.

“Would you cease that incessant buzzing?” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Not my problem that you decided drinking with Bull _and_ Oghren was the perfect way to spend First Day,” Asta winced herself at the sound of her voice. “Though I admit that Mia is no lightweight either. In this, at least, Ostwick has a better idea about how to celebrate the start of a new year. Namely - not with a hangover.”

“Should you be drinking anyway?” Dorian lifted an eyebrow, peering over the edge of the book he was attempting to copy.

“Yes,” Asta replied shortly. “I should be.”

“Ah,” Dorian didn’t pick up the ‘drop it’ tone she was using. “So… Cullen put a hold on your little plans, or…”

“Or,” Asta rolled her eyes pointedly in Petri’s direction, his lips moving as he concentrated.

“Oh, Petri doesn’t speak Common anymore,” Dorian said as loudly as his head would let him. “He’s determined to start communicating solely in runes. It’s his First Day resolution.”

“Wha?” Petri sat up, squinting, “Did one of you say something?”

Asta weighed him, “Petri, when was the last time you spent any time with Minaeve?”

“She brought me three new translations this morning,” Petri tried.

“That was two days ago. Did you realize your mother is planning a wedding for Bloomingtide?”

“What?” Petri blinked.

“Minaeve said you proposed. In Ancient Tevene. In the middle of the night, when you crawled into bed,” Dorian drawled. “She claimed that she replied in the same language. She’s getting rather fluent, isn‘t she? Does it slip out, when you’re…” Dorian waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve heard taking a lover is the best way to learn a new language.”

Petri flushed, “Um…”

“It’s a good thing she likes to study,” Asta giggled. “Otherwise she’d never see you. But… you do remember asking her, right? Because otherwise you might want to talk to your mother…”

“Or resign yourself to your fate,” Dorian flipped his page majestically. “I’d go with the latter, were it me. Your Tevinter Mother has the reins now. Go where you’re led, down the path of least resistance.”

“As if you can talk,” Petri mumbled. “You left the bloody country to escape yours.”

“Yes, but my mother is nowhere near as charming, or as persistent,” Dorian began. “Yours followed you into exile, need I remind you?”

Petri’s retort was cut short as Josie burst through the doors to the library, furious, hair askew. “This is your fault!”

“Probably,” Asta smiled.

“Rylen left me a note. He left for Val Royeaux yesterday morning. Don’t pretend you don’t know why. Cook just admitted that Rylen received a letter from a Count Otranto!” she hissed. “You knew… I told you that one of the only ways out of the engagement was… I told you I was going through with it! You know that Rylen is not… he’s not interested in permanence. He‘s older and… experienced, and I won‘t hold him back out of selfishness or…”

“Did he say that he wasn‘t interested in anything permanent?” Asta rose, and guided her out of Dorian’s gossiping clutches and out of sight and hearing of his sniggers.

“No, but you know…” Josie wrung her hands. “What did you tell him?”

“It doesn’t matter what I told him. He said he felt like his heart was stopping, swore he was going to give up lyrium, and then went to Dagna to ask about rapiers.”

“Inquisitor, you know how I feel about violence!” Josie clutched her arm. “You don’t think he’ll actually fight… Antivans train on their weapons nearly from birth! Otranto is a duelist of the highest order!”

“Yes, I do,” Asta stated simply. “This happened because you assumed you knew what Rylen wanted, my friend. He knows what he wants, and the only one who didn’t know was you, because you didn’t talk to him. And that’s not like you. You talk to everybody.”

“He’s never indicated in any way, that he was… interested in…“ Josie gave up. “I’ve never done this before,” Josie sunk into the new bench in the garden, defeated. “Should I leave for Val Royeaux immediately? That’s where he’s supposed to meet him… what Otranto must think of me…”

Asta snorted, “Who cares what he thinks. What do you think?”

Josie swallowed, “I think Leliana will make Rylen disappear…”

“If he hurts you, she will,” Asta laughed. “That would count for Otranto, too.”

Josie rose. “I’m going to borrow a couple of scouts and a horse or three, Inquisitor.” She paused, “He didn’t ask Cullen to be his second, did he?”

“I don’t believe the question ever came up. And Cullen is most definitely outside as we speak, playing with the dogs and Ian under the guise of ‘training‘. I don‘t think Templars really fight duels. Rylen‘s probably sketchy on the etiquette involved.”

Josie relaxed, “All to the better. If Rylen fell on the field, Cullen would kill the Count. This way I only have to be indignant and outraged. I won’t have to prepare to break someone out of jail, or appeal to the Empress, or fall over my fallen lover and weep bitter tears as my betrothed claims my hand…”

Asta hummed, “I do believe Rylen had some concerns about assassins…” the woman’s comments penetrated, and she lifted an eyebrow, “Josie, do you actually have plans in place for all those outcomes?”

Josie giggled evilly and cut her off, “Oh, the House of Repose is allied with my family now. The other houses will never touch him,” she smiled secretively and wisely. “And - you probably don’t want to know the answer to that question. Mama was getting twitchy with how much I wrote home about him, and mentioned Papa was seen sharpening his saber. Papa is an artist, I couldn’t let him fight him… Rylen might hurt him and cause the sort of blood feud that would last for generations. This will clear it all up quite nicely, and to everyone‘s satisfaction.”

“Josie, how did you ally your Merchant family with a guild of assassins?” Asta asked extremely cautiously.

Josie winked, “Oh… I have my ways. They were rather impressed with my deft handling of their contract. I‘m rather fond of their guild leader. He sent the most lovely sweets, as a gesture of goodwill. So kind of him not to poison them, either. I truly expected there to be a few hard feelings, but they‘re quite honorable. Refreshing, really.”

“You’re truly scary, Josie,” Asta sighed, and stood up. “I really need to plan this trip into the Forest. I keep getting sidetracked. Curing the Calling, saving Ferelden‘s monarchy, and now this… Have fun in Val Royeaux with your two suitors. My regards and condolences to Count Otranto - I’m sure he’s a decent sort if he‘s playing along so nicely. Ship me back some tiny cakes? And have fun with your ‘unexpected’ engagement. If you like, I’ll plan you both a party when you get back.”

Josie cleared her throat, and rose regally, “Actually, I‘ve left a letter with instructions towards that end. I‘ll write, and let you know when to expect us. I want to do some shopping before we leave the city, however, so it might be a few extra days, unless you need us to hurry back. Whatever you do, do _not_ let Dorian plan anything!” She paused, “Except for the wine. He has a better palate than I. But don’t tell him I said so. Make it seem like a concession, to save face.” She squinted doubtfully, “You can manage that much, can’t you?”

“Possibly.“

“Do try your best, Inquisitor.” As Josie departed, instead of going back into the library, Asta wandered out to where Cullen was playing with the not-so-small puppies and Ian, joined by the Queen and King of Ferelden. She cleared the snow off a nearby bench with her prosthesis, and sat down to watch.

“Ma!” Ian tried to squirm out of his father’s hands. “Ma!”

Asta waved at him, but didn‘t feel like risking her life amongst the tangle of half-grown Mabari. Some were still teething.

The Queen held out her arms, and cleared her throat. “I’ll take him over. I’ve had enough for the morning, I think,” she laughed. “I’d forgotten how much energy Mabari pups have when they’re young!” Cullen handed Ian off without thinking, and the two stared at each other for a moment before the Queen smiled, and let herself out of the enclosure, holding Ian far more carefully than was necessary. “Your son, Inquisitor,” she bowed, handing him over, brushing the dog hair and mud off of her legs.

“Ma,” Ian said seriously, pouting suspiciously, and looking vaguely like his father when interrupted.

“Your Ma,” Elissa agreed.

Ian turned and squirmed into Asta’s shoulder, laying his head down. Asta saw a strange look in the Queen’s eyes, but chose not to ask. “So… what can you tell me about the ruins in the Brecilian Forest?”

“Why are you interested in those?” the Queen settled herself down next to her, ignoring the snow melting under her rear. “Those ruins were the single greatest disappointment of the entire Blight.”

“Why…”

“Werewolves,” hissed the Queen. “There were supposed to be real, live werewolves. I spent my adolescence reading everything I could find about werewolves. As soon as I heard the rumor, I was thrilled - I was going to meet werewolves! Instead of being like Dane, they tried to kill me, repeatedly! And as a bonus for my trouble, I meet a twisted Keeper holding onto a curse so tight that it was extending his fucking life! And they weren’t ‘real’ werewolves at all! Just men and women who had been cursed accidentally, after all the originals had died off of old age!” She threw her hands in the air in frustration, nearly hitting Asta in the process. “I had to convince the Keeper to die, so that they could try to find lives for themselves in the modern world.”

“You wanted them to be…”

“I wanted them to be real,” Elissa agreed, in a tone of deep grief. “First griffons are extinct, and then werewolves are just a product of a curse… my childhood fantasies crushed, one after the other, the harshest kind of coming of age. That year sucked for more reasons than the Blight, let me tell you.” She cleared her throat, “Of course, it was a good year, for other reasons.” She smiled at her husband, still rolling around with the puppies, slightly, “The one good thing about the Blight was the way it brings people together.”

Asta hummed and then gasped, “Wait. A Keeper… a keeper cursed them… and extended his own life, by _holding onto a active spell?_ ” The repercussions of what that meant about the Crossroads - and even Arlathan, and Elvhenan, she breathed softly, wondering if she could be right. What if the reason for eternal life for the elves was a constant flow of magic - and a constant flow of magic like the sort needed to power the Veil - she had a sudden desire to check the books she had picked up in the Crossroads for evidence.

Elvhenan was kept afloat by magic. By the Evanuris. When they were locked away, the city sank… had the lack of magic flowing into the beings known as the Creators made it fall?

“That’s what he said,” Elissa said. “That he came to the ruins, and drew upon a spirit of the forest, linking it to a wolf… Or something like that. I’m fuzzy on the details. I’m not a mage. It’s a swo-o-rd…” she mocked Dalish while indicating the weapon on her hip.

Asta laughed, and then stopped, and then laughed again. “Do you know what Elvhen deity the ruins were dedicated to…”

Elissa shook her head. “I don’t. There… there were a lot of statues in there, and their camp was laid out clearly with all the gods, but in the actual ruins there wasn’t much of anything informative. There was a… study area, with a strange globe trap thing haunted by Revenants that reminded me of your description of those constellation thingies you found all over the place - only bigger, maybe. I got the impression that it was dedicated to that eternal sleep thing they did? Uthie… Uthanera? Is that the word? I did this funky ritual thing involving water and an altar, but it was all ancient pictograms so I was just guessing with Morrigan‘s guidance - and I always got the impression she was telling me only about half of what she knew, she’s a good friend but not exactly forthcoming - and then I killed some demons in the chamber… but the corpses there were definitely dead, except for…” she paused. “Except for the jewel thing. That being was very much alive and begged to be allowed to rest. It taught me how to teach Arcane Warriors in gratitude. I returned the jewel to the altar, and then it… exploded?” She laughed at her inadequacy. “I’m sorry. Leliana was always the storyteller. I‘m making a complete hash of this.”

Asta had gone pale. “You placed a jewel on an altar. You performed a ritual in an ancient Elvhen temple,” she stood. “Hawke…” she started pacing, Ian fast asleep on her shoulder. “The Champion returned an amulet of Flemeth - who turned out to be Mythal - to an altar on the Sundermount, and Flemeth awoke. She joined them on the mountain.” She took a shuddery breath, “Your Majesty…” she focused on her, nearly dizzy with the realization. “You woke Fen’Harel from Uthenara.”

Elissa stared, “What? No. No, I couldn’t have. And didn’t I kill Flemeth? Of course, Morrigan said that she doubted it would be permanent, but still… All that happened was I got a little information about magic specialties, and a door unlocked with the jug of water thingy. To a room full of… full off… sepulchers…” her words trailed off.

“You did,” Asta laughed, and then covered her mouth rather than wake her sleeping son. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about what that jewel taught you.”

“There was an elf, dressed in silver armor,” she stated slowly, “and a whole lot of strange… instructions about Arcane Warriors. Which I only partially understood because I’m…”

“Not a mage, yes,” Asta pushed on, sitting back down. “Believe me, having had a direct connection to the Fade that wasn’t natural, I understand the confusion. Did… did you have any impressions of his life…”

“There was a war,” Elissa said softly, looking off into a distance. “And… a great sadness. Many people fighting…”

“The Imperium?”

Elissa shrugged, but paused, “No. Older. As old as the ruins. The Dalish Keeper claimed at the time that those particular ruins were older than Arlathan.” She thought harder, “and… they were sunken. I remember Alistair asking about it, whether elves lived underground like the dwarves. We were both rather confused, in our youth and ignorance. Now, we know the stories say that Arlathan sank. Was this something similar? Couldn‘t it have happened at the same time?”

Asta squealed, and Ian jerked awake, fussing. “Shhh, sorry,” Asta winced, rocking and bouncing him randomly to get him back to sleep, swaying unconsciously as he settled back down. “And they’re only a day away,” she breathed, entranced. “Elissa - were there any mirrors? Think carefully!”

“Not there,” the Hero spoke carefully, “but… at Ostagar, in the Tower of Ishal, there were several. Underground, in the tunnels the darkspawn were using to infiltrate the camp.”

“Shit,” hissed Asta. “Fen’Harel’s temple - or whatever the man called it. Knowing Solas he probably objects to it being associated with a place of worship. But it’s there, in the Brecilian Forest. And there‘s probably an Eluvian connection with the Tower of Ishal…” She breathed a little quicker. “I just know it.” She kissed Ian’s still bald head, her eyes glazed. “Warden Commander…” she smiled wickedly, “How do you feel about taking a field trip down memory lane?”

Elissa blinked, and then smiled, “A hike would be a lovely diversion, Inquisitor. I could use some exercise. I’m getting positively sleepy, with all the leisure time on my hands. There are wolves and bears in the forest, and…” she grinned in excitement, “who knows what the Sylvans have been up to! Why… I wonder if the Elder Tree is still there!” She raised her voice, “Cheesy… would you like to accompany me into the forest?”

“What?” Alistair popped his head up from where he was talking to a puppy, and rubbing its belly. “What forest? Where?”

“About a day’s ride,” Elissa smiled bewitchingly, “East.”

“The only forest East from here is the Brecilian…” Alistair stopped breathing for a moment. “No. Elissa, my dear, the werewolves aren’t there. Remember? You turned them back into happier, less fuzzy people with very yellow eyes.”

Asta had a try, “Cullen… did you know that the spirit of the Brecilian forest was associated with a wolf?”

Cullen cursed, understanding in an instant, “Maferath’s Balls, Asta, love… are you insinuating…”

“Yes,” Asta smiled wide and bit her lip. “We have a lead, Cullen. And it’s close - a day or so away.” She stood up. “I’m going to lay Ian down and get my pack. We’re all going into the fucking forest.”

***

“He won’t talk to me!” Alistair despaired to his wife.

“He’s not Cailan any longer, Cheesy,” Elissa fidgeted with a loose thread on her tunic, worrying at it and frowning at her husband. “You have to see that…”

“He’s still my brother - sort of.” His forehead pinched. “I’m his only family, just as he is mine…”

Elissa bit her lip, “Alistair… he’s built a new life for himself with the Chargers. Considering the upheaval if you were to bring this to light…”

“Ferelden deserves honesty - to have a choice between Cailan and me,” Alistair’s voice sounded tight. “Cailan might still… Anora, without her father, might not be… He‘s at least legitimate! Eamon would support his sister‘s child over…”

“And do you think Anora would want him now, after being abandoned for over a decade? She‘s over forty years old, it‘s not like she‘s going to have a child now! Cheesy…”

“I would want you, in the same situation,” Alistair’s eyes were dark and deepset. “No matter how much time had passed. If she loved him… and she wanted to rule! She always wanted to rule!”

“And I would want you,” Elissa whispered, “But Anora is not either of us. In her eyes, she lost her husband - and then her beloved father at your hand. She was never able to admit fully that her father was responsible for his death. So who would she blame now? Cailan or Loghain?”

Alistair snorted, “She’d blame us. Just as she does for everything else since you declared I was going to take the throne and you would rule with me.” He smiled whimsically, “Such a wonderful day… And then she would try to have us both banished permanently. We‘d have to leave Ferelden…” he stopped.

“Only this time, we can’t even fall back on the Wardens as a back up plan! Let the sleeping Mabari lie, Cheesy.” Elissa swallowed. “He won’t speak to you, so let it go. Cailan… Cailan is dead. He died at Ostagar.”

“It’s like he’s died all over again,” Alistair sighed, and sunk into a chair. “Do you really think this is the right thing to do? If Teagan knew… if Eamon…” He lifted his head, “I still don’t want to be King, Elissa. These last years, with one disaster after another, Breaches, and earthquakes, and demon armies, and mages and templars… there are days I didn‘t want to crawl out of bed.”

“I know,” Elissa’s voice caught. “But I’m with you now. It… It wasn’t so bad, before I left, was it?”

“You did look very pretty in the dresses,” Alistair’s eyes crinkled, and Elissa shoved him slightly. “Not as lovely as you do now, of course.”

“So did you,” she laughed. “If he doesn’t want to step into the light, we can’t make him. You see that?”

“I don’t know what to do,” he sighed, “First Mother won’t return with us… and we can’t be gone much longer, my love. Eamon‘s letters demand my return.”

“We aren’t going without Fiona,” Elissa’s lips firmed. “You need her. And Eamon isn‘t allowed to tell you what to do any more. I‘m back now.”

“And that’s your job, is it?” Alistair pulled her closer to stand between his legs.

“Something like that. I prefer to think of it as being a sounding board for your own ideas.” Her voice lowered, “ Those years with you before were the happiest of my life.”

“Then let’s start them over again,” Alistair tugged her into his lap. “Oof. You’re heavier than ever.”

“You can take it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Josie's 'unexpected' engagement, in my headcanon, has all the hallmarks of something she and her parents set up in order to figure out how serious the Inquisitor was about the relationship.
> 
> Her little hints about the duel... everything from start to finish was her setting things in place to resolve the situation so that there was no ambiguity about their relationship. Count Otranto was probably an old family friend willing to play along so Josie could get her happy ending, in a manner that the citizens of Orlais would approve of.


	78. Into the Woods

“You’re staying here, and that’s final.” Asta hauled her bags with difficulty out from the closet and set them on the bed. “Sweet Maker, I hope we still have enough tents… Even Emily is staying behind. The Brecilian Forest is no place for children.”

“You’re taking Ian!”

“Ian needs me to eat. We’ll only be gone for a few days - if there‘s anything of interest we‘ll send back a more permanent team. Auntie Ros and Uncle Krem will take good care of you… no doubt they‘ll let you stay up late and teach you bad words in Tevene. You‘ll have the time of your life.”

“Hope says I should go!”

That particular argument made Asta pause and she observed Pippa, who squirmed and looked away. “No, he doesn’t. Pippa… you shouldn‘t use Hope as an excuse to get what you want.”

“Sorry,” grumbled the child. “But I want to go, Mum. Can‘t I go?”

“Absolutely not,” Cullen entered their room, turning pale. “This isn’t a pleasure trip, Pip. This is your Mum’s work, and if it weren’t for Ian needing…”

“If it weren’t for Ian refusing to wean, I wouldn’t be taking him, either.”

“You’re staying here,” Cullen said firmly. “No more arguments.”

Pippa flounced out of the room indignantly. “You’re so unfair!”

“Life is unfair!” Asta called after her, flushing a little guiltily. “Cullen…”

“No. Just no.”

“It’s her heritage…”

“No!”

“Isn’t it like playing favorites…”

“No. Ian has to eat. Pippa doesn’t depend on you for food, and she‘s trying to manipulate you. If I had a copper for every time I saw Mia try the same thing…” Cullen sighed, “Look, we knew that the sibling rivalry would get bad at some point. This is just the beginning. When we get back we’ll plan a safe trip somewhere that Pippa can join us on.”

Asta nodded, reluctantly, “I suppose. I just… my brothers always got to do things with Mother and Father that I didn’t. They rubbed it in. I hate to think…”

“It’s for her own good. We‘re keeping her safe. That‘s all.”

***

The forest was darker than Asta had expected, but not as jungle prone as the Arbor Wilds, and not as arboreal as the Frostbacks. It was damp, even in winter, and the streams, while ice-rimmed, weren’t frozen over. The small group set up their camp where the Hero of Ferelden indicated the Dalish had theirs - the only sign of their possible return a run down fence and the larger statues of their gods, now overgrown with thorny branches and the barren beginnings of trees. Minaeve frowned and started to clear them away, hacking at them with the dagger at her belt. After a moment, Petri joined her, and she granted him a rare smile.

Iron Bull cursed from somewhere beyond the wagon. “Shit, Boss, you’re gonna want to handle this.” Asta made her way towards the wagon that he had been unloading and sighed at what she saw. “Cullen?”

Cullen rubbed his eyes with a single hand, “Pippa?”

“Pip,” Asta began, “We talked about this.”

Pippa nudged the moss with her toe. “I’m not sorry. You never let me do anything fun. And His Majesty says its better to ask forgiveness - and I tried to ask permission! You said no!”

“Because this could be dangerous!”

“And if you all die, I’ll have nobody left!”

Asta stared at her, unmoved. “That is not true. You have your Aunties, and Josie, and Dorian, and a plethora of other people. You‘re surrounded by people who care about you.”

“I don’t care about them. If you and Da and Ian die out here…”

“Well, that’s a horrible thing to say.” Asta pressed her lips together. “I certainly hope you never repeat that in front of any of them.” She glanced out, and some of the people were looking vaguely amused. “More of them, anyway.”

“We’re not going to die, Pip,” Cullen started. “We’re going to look at a few ruins, is all. Old buildings that might be connected to Fen’Harel.”

“I could dream there!” Pippa’s face grew eager, “I’ve been practicing - I could drop deep into the Fade and…”

“Absolutely not!” Cullen choked off.

“Cullen,” Asta started, “We can’t forbid her from falling asleep.”

“You‘re going straight home,” Cullen looked around at the small group, weighing his options at who he could send with her. “You’ll go with…”

“There’s no one to go, Cullen. The group is too small,” Asta sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “Bull needs to stay - you know he’s the only one besides you that can take on a whole pack of wolves… and nobody else is strong enough to provide an escort besides you. We can‘t ask their Majesties to escort our errant daughter…”

“Let me stay. Please? Let me dream there… I could find out all sorts of things!”

Asta swallowed the temptation. “You’re just a little girl, baby. We won’t use you that way.”

“I want to help.”

Asta caught Cullen’s disapproving eye. “We’ll talk about it later. For now, you’re here. If you’re here, you’ll be useful,” she cut off Pippa’s words of exaltation with a single finger, “Go help Minaeve with the branches, and learn something about your culture, or something. There is no room in this expedition for dead weight, Apprentice.”

Pippa threw herself at her, “Thanks, Mum.”

“Don’t thank me,” sighed Asta. “You might still go home. Your Da and I are going to talk.”

Pippa ran off immediately, and Cullen rummaged through the bags of supplies the girl had brought with her. “Well, she packed appropriately. She even threw in her training pads for sparring, and her practice sword.”

“Good, she can work on that before she eats,” Asta clenched her jaw. “I’m not being… soft, am I?”

“A little.”

“Cullen…”

“It’s not my place, Inquisitor, to…”

“You’re her Da. It’s absolutely your place. And don’t call me Inquisitor when you're annoyed with me.” Asta gave him a look. “Talk to me.”

“I should leave you here and take her back to South Reach. Krem and Ros are probably worried sick.”

“I left a note!” Pippa yelled. “Talk softer, if you don’t want me to hear!”

He grunted, “Or they're following us…”

“We left them in charge of the dogs,” Asta reminded him. “Ros won’t leave them. You know that. Krem might - but what would be the point? He knows she‘ll be safe with us.”

Cullen rubbed his neck, “Look, love, you can’t just let her win. You gave her an order…”

“She’s a little girl, not a recruit. A little girl that thought she was being left out of something exciting. The best thing to do - is work her hard. Let her see how difficult adventuring is. That it’s not like traveling home from Kirkwall, or even moving to South Reach.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m listening.”

“She can carry her own pack, for one,” Asta lifted Pippa’s bags out with extreme difficulty. “She overpacked, for certain.  Rookie mistake.  She gathers firewood, does the fetching and carrying - anything we can think of, from water to parchment. She helps with cooking.  She trains like I did with you, when I first started.”

Cullen smiled in memory, “Not exactly…”

Asta flushed, “Well, a little different, obviously. But she trains with weapons, not magic while she’s out here. She learns to conserve her mana that way, yes? And defend herself.” She eyed him sideways. “And you don’t teach her.”

He straightened up, “I’m perfectly capable…”

“You’re too honorable and patient, and if she‘s here as an apprentice, too important,” Asta contradicted. “Bull will train her. He’ll hold back less, make her push herself until she falls into her bedroll, sore and tired. And he’ll teach her some dirty tricks that she can use on anybody that tries to mess with her. If she‘s going to insist on coming along, she‘d needs to know.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor,” Cullen agreed, and glancing around, caught her by her waist. “If she’s here as an apprentice, then where is she sleeping?”

Asta bit her lip, “Do you think it’s safe… if we‘re treating her as an apprentice, she shouldn‘t be with us. But…”

“We trust everyone here,” Cullen reminded her.

Asta sighed, “Then ask Bull to assign her a space of her own. He’ll know who to trust. Maybe Dalish?”

“An excellent choice,” Cullen nodded in approval.

Asta swatted him, laughing, “Oh, and that leaves us with just a single child in the too small tent.” Cullen lifted a single eyebrow and smirked, his mouth tilting sideways.  "No ulterior motives, I suppose."

“Pup is an excellent sleeper. Shame not to take advantage of it.”

"At least this time we have two bedrolls."

***

“It’s warmer, here,” Asta mused, once they had departed in the direction of the deeper woods, the air misty with low hanging fog, the bare branches eerie. “Why?”

“Lower altitude, trees trap warm air,” Cullen shrugged, “Probably everything will freeze solid soon enough.” He took a breath, “Asta…” his eyes tracked to the little girl at her side.  "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

“We can‘t leave her alone at the camp,” Asta argued. “I don‘t think he‘s actually here - I‘m only hoping to learn something about what happened to the Evanuris, or why he woke up. He told me that once - that he woke up and the world was worse. I told him that we had to keep trying to make it better, again and again until we got it right.”

“Hmmm,” Cullen grunted in disagreement. “Better to start with what you have and make the best of it.”

“Well, I regret it now!” Asta sighed. “I didn’t mean to encourage him to end the world and start over from scratch.”

“You don’t even know if that’s what he’s going to do,” mumbled Pippa from her place at her elbow.

Asta blinked her confusion, “He said we weren’t going to like it, Pip. He created the Veil - the logical conclusion is that he’s going to tear it down, and that will…”

“Oh,” Elissa stopped dead just ahead of them, ending the debate abruptly. “It’s the Madman’s stump.”

Asta’s eyes went wide. “The… Madman?”

“Yes, a crazy old blood mage. Only spoke in riddles, made me play a question game,” she sounded almost fond until, “We totally put him out of his misery, bless his heart.”

Asta met Petri’s - up until that point, rather grumpy - eyes, and awe was reflected there. “Tell me… did he seem… corrupted?”

“What?” Elissa snorted, “No. He was no darkspawn. Why would you even think… Oh,” the copper dropped. “The priest of Chaos was…” she frowned. “I never made that connection. I should have. I should spend more time reading, evidently. Cheesy, make a mental note to find me a copy of the Chant.  Maybe Leliana can help.”

“The priest of Chaos was called the Madman,” Asta squealed. “And you killed him?! Did he have a dragon?”

Elissa shook her head, “I only wish. He lived in a bloody stump! Even though he had a tent! That rotting thing - it was bigger on the inside or something… odd. He could shrink himself, maybe?”

Alistair butted in, “But afterwards, a whole group of blood mages came through this area - you remember, my love, we were lost again? Claiming that there was some really strange magic in the area. We had to kill all of them, naturally.” He sighed in facetious nostaglia, “Those were the glory days.”

Petri was kneeling nearby, “These are Ancient Tevene,” he muttered impatiently, barely touching a decrepit gravestone. “Warden, are there more of these in this forest?”

“They were all over,” Elissa replied. “I got armor out of disturbing the wards and fighting the Revenants that rose, so I went looking. Funds were tight, what can I say? Juggernaut armor was good armor. It’s probably still back at Soldier’s Peak… Sten left it when he went North to report in and accidentally became the Arishok.”

“Back at Soldier’s Peak with the rest of your hoard,” Alistair grinned. “My dear, we should really see if the Elder Tree is still around,” he gasped, “Oh, do you think he ever planted his seed?” He waggled his eyebrows at her and leered.

Elissa snorted. “Not in front of the kids, Cheesy. Maker, you can be so inappropriate.”

Pippa giggled and shifted her pack.

“The whole forest was warded and guarded… yes, I want to see the rest of these,” Petri pressed his lips together. “But after the ruins. Let Minaeve have her moment.” He smiled at the woman besottedly.

“The Veil does seem… wobbly here,” she offered quietly, uncomfortable around the Warden. “I wonder… if it is magic that extends elf life, is that…” Petri nodded to encourage her, “do you think that is why Fen’Harel slept for so long? That the creation and maintenance of the Veil drained him, weakened him even while he slept? A sort of… magical oxymoron, where he couldn’t die, but couldn’t wake either? Until he was released with the jewel…”

Bull grunted, “Shit. Tallis.”

“Who?”

“She’s… a Qun agent,” Bull sighed. “Or was. Might not still be around… Got mixed up in some messed up shit about ten years back? Mask of Fen’Harel. Hawke’s met her. She’s… tricky,” he admitted. “Problematic. You guys met Gatt. Tallis is like Gatt, but way more devious. Caught between the Dalish and the Qun. Rough place to be, for different reasons.”

“I knew we should have waited for Hawke,” Asta hissed to herself. Cullen adjusted a sleeping Ian in his sling, wishing they could move on.

“Eh, Hawke was only around for a part of that story, and it wasn‘t the right part. Story back home went that Tallis got involved with some Dalish kid trying to rescue his girl from blood mages while trying to recover the Mask, only the girl didn’t want to get hitched. Nobody asked her, apparently. In the meantime, the mages were already trying to summon the egg.” Bull grumbled. “Fucking blood mages. Luckily, she was seducing a Templar at the time, he took ‘em out, mostly. Well, him and the Reaver with ‘em. She stabbed a couple, too. Plucky, that one. Redhead.” He grunted in approval.

Dorian huffed jealously.

“So… Fen’Harel, like Mythal, had or has more than one… aspect?” Minaeve thought aloud, “Perhaps. Whether the Warden woke him, or the blood mages you mention - either way someone performed the correct ritual.”

“That would explain his similarity to Shartan,” Asta enthused. “If, like Flemeth, he can join those who are of a like mind…”

Minaeve breathed, “If a curse can extend life… Fen’Harel cursed them. The Evanuris. He has to live, so that they will remain imprisoned. He didn’t just create the Veil, his magic  _is_ the Veil!” She clutched at Petri, excited. “He enclosed his lifeforce in the orb, the key to the Veil… and all those measuring devices all over were designed to maintain it while he slept! But when he woke, weakened, the Veil was weak, too! Perhaps because of the Keeper’s use of the curse, binding it to the forest like that… that power had to come from somewhere! Fen’Harel made the choice to see if Corypheus could unlock his power from the orb, and we all know how that turned out. He discovered that the orb‘s power was split between the Inquisitor and Corypheus…”

“The throne was empty,” Asta whispered. “The Maker wasn’t on his throne, Corypheus said. At the time he said it, it bothered me, and I wasn‘t even sure why.” Her eyes went wild and nervous. “But there was a Maker. At least of the Veil. We know that for certain. So why wasn‘t the Maker on his throne? Had he… abandoned it already?”

“Even the Golden City would be a lonely place if you were the only one left,” Dorian said softly.

“Solas was afraid to die alone. I saw it in the Fade.” Asta bit her lip. “How long do you think he’s had that fear?”

“Long enough to attract a Nightmare demon and keep it as a pet, I’d say,” Petri sighed. “That might be why Fen’Harel ‘brings the Nightmare’. His fear, after all these ages, is probably larger than anyone else in Thedas.”

“We need more evidence before we can make that conclusion. So what else should we see?” Asta asked the former Wardens.

“Well, the Elder Tree was always good for a laugh,” grinned Alistair.

“Hardly applicable to the current mission, however, Cheesy,” chided Elissa, far more commanding than she had been. “No, I think we should move on to the ruins. If there is anything of interest, it will be there. I’d like you to look at the room where we found the jewel, and that odd globe thing, and that pool and altar.”

“Is the jug still there?” Minaeve asked with great interest. “Perhaps if an elf performed the ritual, there would be another outcome…”

“No, it shattered after I used it.” The elf’s face fell. “Sorry - if I had known, I wouldn’t have…”

“Story of my life,” Asta assured her. “Hawke’s too. Just ask, if you‘re still around when she arrives.”

The ruins themselves were nearly as Elissa had left them, a little more mossy, a little more tilted. “Is it safe to go in there?” Dorian hesitated at the first of the pillars. “After all those earthquakes…”

Elissa squinted, “There’s only one way to find out.” She smiled, “I should thank you for stopping the earthquakes. They were making my quest way too hard, making me backtrack across half of Thedas trying to find ways around.”

“I can only imagine,” Cullen cringed. “Asta - I’d rather not… go in there.”

“Oh, it’s really open once you’re inside! High ceilings, spacious hallways…” Alistair tried to reassure him.

“Ancient dusty bones crunching under your feet,” Elissa smiled in anticipation, with rather more teeth than necessary, and folding her arms across her breastplate. “Just like old times. Cheesy, do you think with the curse gone that we’ll still run into undead? There haven’t been enough bears… I could use some exercise.”

“Ah, my love, I hope you never change.”

“I’d definitely rather not enter if there’s a chance we’ll run into undead!” Cullen tightened his arm around his son, and frowned pointedly at Pippa. “Asta… the children.”

“This is the whole point of the trip, Cullen! I’m not going to come this far and not go in!”

“Then at least admit it’s a danger and…”

“I really don’t think it’s a danger at all,” Dorian interrupted. “Minaeve would know better than I, perhaps, but the Veil seems rather solid. If we encounter undead, it will likely be because I grew bored and started playing.”

Pippa giggled again.

“That’s strange,” Elissa exchanged a look with Alistair. “Morrigan said that the Veil was thin here, before.”

“More evidence then,” Asta braced herself. “Minaeve, this is your field. Not Dorian’s or Petri’s. What do you think? Should we go in?”

Minaeve merely nodded, looking fierce. “We go in.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the other option for why Fen'Harel woke when he did - the Mask of Fen'Harel and Tallis' quest before the Dragon Age 2 DLC!
> 
> Of course, they were trying to summon him with blood magic, but the lore in Redemption was altered slightly, thus why it is largely ignored. The Templar in that story took those kind of vows. ;)
> 
> Still, worth a mention and a watch, especially if you like Felicia Day. She's one of my favorites.


	79. Crossing Paths

The ruin was just as Alistair indicated, and Cullen whistled as they entered, gazing up at the ceiling in awe. “Maker’s Breath…” He spun slightly as he looked around. “It’s almost as large as Skyhold’s Main Hall.”

“Watch for traps and secret doors, like the ones on either side of the landing,” instructed Elissa firmly. “We probably didn’t find them all, and the werewolves weren’t exactly focused on disengaging their protections when they left.” She frowned as they reached the makeshift log ramp that led down into the main room. “Cheesy… do you have that rope?” Alistair swung his pack down and took out the rope and a grappling hook with a questioning look of surprise. “It might have rotted,” she flushed. “I’ve learned a bit of caution, over the years.”

“And it only took breaking a leg,” her husband deadpanned.

“This architecture,” Dorian pursed his lips. “Amica, the stonework…”

“It’s vaguely reminiscent of some of the buildings we went through with the Eluvians. Check out the mechanisms of the doors, if you don‘t mind,” Asta took out her own rope, and handed it to Cullen. “Tie me up, love?” Dorian snickered as he wandered off to have a closer look at the open ‘secret‘ doors. “I can’t exactly make a rope harness with one hand, Dorian! Stop teasing!”

Bull snorted, “If you won’t, I will, Cullen. Do as the Boss says.”

“He’s very good at knots,” Dorian called back over his shoulder.

Cullen took the rope.

Dorian shrugged nonchalantly.  "Your loss, Amica."

Pippa frowned in confusion, “Mum…”

“Never mind, Pippa,” Cullen interrupted. “You’ll understand when you’re older. Or not. Maker’s Breath, I hope not.”

Bull grunted in impatience and walked out onto the logs. “Don‘t bother with the rope, they’re solid.” He jumped a few times. “See?”

“Amatus! What if…” Dorian quit investigating the secret doors.

“A little fall like that ain’t gonna kill me, Kadan.”

“But you could catch your knee wrong, or…”

“Quit fussing in front of my guys,” Bull cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Foolish risks,” hissed the magister. “Unnecessary and… you love worrying me, don‘t you?!”

Bull grinned, “Maybe?” Dorian’s exasperated sigh echoed through the walls.

Elissa sighed, and walked down the ramp. “Yep, solid. Come on. The werewolves were living to the right. The altar was to the left.”

“Left it is,” Asta re-shouldered her pack, with Pippa‘s help.

A few minutes later, they came to a wide room, with the globe-like device surrounded by the summoning circles. “And this…” Asta approached it cautiously. “It looks a little like the Astrariums, but different.” She touched it and nothing happened. “What did it do?”

“Nothing I could figure out,” sniffed the Queen. “I just killed the Revenants. I suppose if I had done something right, it would have dismantled the traps. But we managed just fine. Sten took most of the damage. We lived. He became Arishok. Couldn‘t have done him that much harm.”

“The astrariums I found opened treasure rooms, once solved,” Asta frowned. “Strange. Perhaps related in nature, but used for a different purpose. Petri, is it Tevene?”

“No,” Petri cleared his throat, “Though I'd probably have my Circle status stripped if I admitted it.  They were based on Elvhen lore, though the Imperium made use of the design, like so many other things. This one is considerably earlier than any I’ve read about.” His forehead wrinkled, and he knelt down to investigate the circles. “Elemental traps and Arcane Horrors,” he muttered. “These weren’t Revenants at all!”

Elissa rolled her eyes, “I did a lot of fighting in those days. I can’t remember every single bloody battle… Revenant, Arcane Horror… same difference.”

“They are completely opposite in nature!” Petri countered, still focused on the circles.  "It's like confusing a Templar with a Mage!"

“Whatever,” sighed Elissa, as her husband chuckled. “They both died when I hit them with a sword.”

“This is definitely worth further study,” Petri stood and brushed off his robes. “The Elvhen here is ancient…”

Elissa wandered off, bored. “I’m going to go find that altar, and that room it unlocked. Come with, if you feel like it. Oh, and watch for spiders! Even if there’s no undead, I bet the…” her shout of joy echoed back. “Spiders! Now we’re talking!”

Alistair cursed, drawing his sword as he ran. “Elissa!”

“Stay here,” Cullen ordered Pippa and followed.

By the time they reconvened in the adjoining hallway, the spiders were all dead, more than a dozen carcasses spreading ichor over the room, and Elissa was laughing and holding her side. “Oh, I have missed this… it‘ll be hard to go back to Denerim.” She stopped holding her side, “Don’t worry, Cheesy, I’m not hurt. Except from laughing too hard. Got a stitch in my side. Maker, that was fun.”

“Denerim doesn't precisely offer the same level of entertainment, I know,” Alistair admitted. “Though perhaps you can start challenging people to duels, if the ennui is overwhelming.” Elissa squeezed his arm. “There’s always room for that. I’ll make you a list. Starting with those De Launcet girls - they’ve gotten positively pushy in your absence.  You'll take them out easy.”

“I’ll get used to court again. With duty, sacrifice, and all that rot.”

“Such irreverence for an ancient Order,” he mock-scolded.

“Whatever,” she recovered, shaking herself. “Do you want to go through their stomachs for odd things they’ve swallowed or should I?”

“It’s all yours, my love.”

The altar in question confused Minaeve thoroughly. “I’ve never seen something so… old, that is also so clearly Elvhen,” she admitted, turning back to the pool. “Where did you find the ritual description?”

“Oh, the ancient scroll,” Elissa hit her forehead and winced. “Ouch, that’ll leave a mark. And no Warden regeneration. I’m going to have to learn not to do that…” she cleared her throat, embarrassed. “I’ll send a letter to Eamon, to have the scroll retrieved from the vault and sent to you for study, if you like. He might as well make himself useful.”

Minaeve nodded eagerly. “Yes, please! I mean, it’s not my field, but maybe Petri can…” she flushed. “I study the Veil, Your Majesty. Ancient rituals are more of a side interest…”

“The two are often connected,” Petri corrected, wrapping his arm around her. “And you’re better at deciphering ancient scrolls than you think, Amata.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “I think I’m going to be sick.” Bull sniffled openly. “Oh, you would think that’s adorable.”

Minaeve blushed, and turned back to the altar. “But looking at this, I think that we’re dealing with exactly the situation you suspected - whether it was Fen‘Harel you awoke, I don‘t know, though the pictographs look vaguely like his artwork back at Skyhold, but - I wish the jug had survived.”

“I’ll show you what I did,” the Queen smiled. “Well, as much as possible. There wasn’t any chanting or anything. Just some kneeling and drinking. And an unlocked door. The chamber was just up that way,” she indicated with her head in the correct direction, up a series of stairs.

The chamber in question had Minaeve and Petri both muttering to each other and exchanging looks of surprise. “This is…” Petri blinked rapidly, as if he was overcome. “This is the record of a war, Inquisitor. The Elvhen interred here were… attacked. I‘m not entirely sure of the translation, because it‘s such an early dialect - they‘re either talking about boats or…”

“Aravels,” corrected Minaeve, with a critical look at her lover. “That’s the rune for aravels. Why would they be talking about boats? This temple is inland, not coastal.  The Dalish aren't known for their seafaring, Petri.”

“They weren’t Dalish!”

“That’s the rune for aravels!”

“Why would they have aravels if they weren’t nomadic?!”

“Are you telling me that I’m mistaking one of the first runes a Dalish child is taught?!”

“I don’t know, are you?!”

“You…” Minaeve bristled visibly and a few small embers shot out of her fingers. “Take it back!”

“Save it!” Asta ordered, lips twitching. “Pip, take rubbings. We’ll get a translation later…”

“It says, ‘The travelers came, and we were separated while I fought to defend. Mother from child, mate from mate,’” Pippa translated clearly. “’The stone broke, and the heart sank. I lost them all, my… creations? No, it suggests a closer relationship. Children, maybe.’” The child smiled, triumphant. “Told you I could help. Hope knows these.”

Petri frowned, “Why don’t you show this level of expertise in your normal lessons, young lady?”

“I told you, he’s making me learn it for myself, so that when he’s gone, I have the knowledge!” Pippa sighed. “He says it’s cheating, otherwise. But he makes exceptions, when its important. Like now.”

“The ghost of the child,” Elissa grabbed at Alistair. “Remember, Alistair? He was searching for…”

“He was searching for his mother,” Alistair agreed, his face sad. “He… he called her mamae, didn‘t he? Creepy… It‘s been so many years, love, but I think… I think he used the same word.” She squeezed his arm, and he wrapped his around her, regardless of her gore spattered exterior.  "And the woman must have been seeking her child."

“What about the other side of the coffin?” Asta asked her daughter, quietly. “What does that say?”

“It gives a series of names, they don’t really translate into Common. A list of the dead, I think.” Pippa’s face closed down. “Hope won’t tell me how to pronounce them. Sorry, Mum. But… I recognize this one, down here at the end, see? Mum… it‘s a version of Solas. Pride.”

“Take rubbings, then.” Asta sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “And thank Hope for his help. Cullen…” Asta turned to him, frowning in thought and her eyes dark. “Let’s get back to the camp, and send a letter to Rylen and Josie, and Scout Harding, and another to Cassandra, to see if there is anyone in Kirkwall interested in providing some protection for mages and scholars in the field.” She took a deep breath, “It‘s a connection, albeit a weak one. We need to study everything.”

***

They rode back into South Reach a week later, the weather increasingly icy, and the roads treacherous.  The wind blew straight through Cullen's cloak, and the sling that both held Ian, and insulated him against the metal of his breastplate.

As they approached the settlement, a small figure rushed towards them. “Mia? What‘s happened?”  Cullen dismounted.

“Oh, Cullen, I'm so glad you're back.  Josie doesn‘t know what to do!”

Asta sighed with relief, “Oh, good, Josie’s back. That will make planning this expedition so much easier.” She tensed, belatedly realizing that Mia was visibly upset. “Mia… what’s wrong?”

“What, what’s happened?!” Cullen grabbed his sister by the shoulders. “Mia, is everyone…”

“You have a guest,” Mia stressed, her eyes flicking to Asta and then back to her brother. “A… noble one. Josie sent me a message to tell you…”

“What, has Hawke arrived?” Asta blinked in surprise. “She must have left immediately…”

“Not the Champion,” Mia hissed.

“Varric and Cassandra? I wouldn’t have thought from their last letter that they were coming until nearly spring…”

“No! This is… bad. Josie is at her wit’s end. I’m supposed to take Pippa home and keep her with me…”

“No.” Asta blanched and kicked her horse into a canter. “No. Pippa, stay here!”

“Asta, wait!” Cullen remounted Potato and urged him forward. “Pippa, stay with your aunt!” Ian wailed from his sling around his chest, and Cullen cradled him with a single hand as he tried to catch up with his wife - a far better equestrian than he when riding with only one arm.

He was right behind her when she halted the horse in front of their house, Josie standing in front, with Rylen backing her up, one hand on his sword - both facing a strange man, tall, with wiry silver hair inadequately bound back, standing with his shoulders slumped inward in a combination of defiance and defeat.

“Bann Trevelyan!” Asta called out, with anger and distrust behind her voice. The man stiffened and turned slowly.

“Evelyn.” His eyes were sharp with intelligence. “It’s been a long time.”

 


	80. Fathers and Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for the deaths of children.

“Bann Trevelyan!” Asta dismounted and Cullen noted her father’s gleam of approval at his wife’s horsemanship and narrowed his eyes, trying to restrain his temper. “Please tell me that your wife isn’t with you.” He dismounted in turn, holding Ian, who had abandoned fussing in favor of baby laughter at the speed of the ride. The baby clutched at his father, cheeks rosy and smiling toothlessly with glee.

“Is that my grandson?” the Lord asked, his voice breaking, instead of replying. Rylen couldn’t repress his snort entirely, but Josie’s well-placed elbow to his midriff no doubt helped. In the next instant, Asta’s fist connected with the Bann’s jaw, and he staggered backward, cupping his face gingerly. Josie squeaked in horror, and Rylen grunted in approval.

“Don’t you dare try to claim a part of him, you absolute bastard,” Asta’s teeth were clenched. Cullen cradled his son tenderly, knowing he wouldn‘t mind in the least if she hit him again.

“Next time, aim for the nose, palm up,” he murmured. “Just like we practiced.”

“You have no family closer than Kirkwall,” Asta said bluntly, without acknowledging Cullen‘s contribution. “Assuming Max still admits the relationship. I can‘t say we‘ve discussed the issue.”

“Evelyn…”

“That is not my name,” Asta’s voice cracked like a whip, and Cullen stood behind her. Her shaking hand sought his, and he squeezed it in reply. Ian reached out for his mother, and she took him. Bann Trevelyan swallowed, his eyes hungry, eyes resting on her prosthesis only momentarily with awe and a flicker of grief. Cullen framed his wife’s shoulders with his own hands.

“He looks just like…”

“He looks like his father,” Asta corrected. Bann Trevelyan’s eyes - a weak muddy brown, with tired crinkles at the corners - met Cullen’s cold ones for the first time.

Oddly, the noble smiled, “He does, at that.” He bit his lower lip, and Cullen twitched with recognition. Josie coughed lightly. “Inquisitor, I would… like to speak with you. As soon as possible. Immediately, if I could.”

“Arrange an appointment with my Ambassador,” Asta trembled under Cullen’s palms, even as he tried to brace her and give her what strength he had. He stared at her knuckles on their son‘s back. She had torn her gloves, and blood was staining the edges of the tear. He could see the stain on her wedding ring, filling the engraved lines of the flowers. “We’ve only just returned from the field, and I will not be at liberty for…”

“How can you be so cold?!” the Bann‘s voice shook with accusation, “They’re all dead! Your mother, Leonard, his wife, their children…”

Asta shook her head, stiffening in what Cullen thought was disbelief. “Don‘t you dare try to manipulate…”

“You’re not responsible then?” The Bann frowned, searching her face, and his own crumpled. “I thought… Maker forgive me, I thought you…”

“What are you…” His wife quivered, and if he felt her physical and mental denial of everything her father claimed, there was nothing he could do. “Whatever happened has nothing to do with me! The Inquisition doesn‘t…” Ian started to cry again, and Cullen attempted to take him back, realizing she was holding him too tight.

“Perhaps we should go inside…” Josie tried to interject, eyes wide with horror.

“That Dalish clan outside of Wycome…” the Bann started, more slowly, his hands fisted.

“A fatal error! I would never order… I thought I could trust the local Duke, and was gravely mistaken,” Asta winced at one of her worst decisions. “Do you think me capable of poisoning wells with red lyrium?! I‘ve spent the last five years trying to eradicate the damn stuff, not spread it further!”

“But your cousins claimed that the Inquisition was sending out assassins… it sorted out the blowhards soon enough, but…” The Bann was looking oddly hopeful, and Cullen cast a glance at his wife, unsure exactly what was going on.

“It was… a prevarication,” Josie clarified, looking sternly at Asta. “Our agents were supposed to promise future favors before… but the rumors spread first. A… miscalculation, Bann Trevelyan. There were never any Inquisition assassins in the Free Marches.”

“Thank Andraste.” The Lord relaxed and let his grief show a little more. “Evelyn, your brother and you are all that is left of our immediate line. I am here - I was sent to negotiate a truce on behalf of the entire family. I am alone and unarmed.”

“He is,” Rylen admitted. “I searched him. Not so much as a poisoned dagger in his boot. Even his ring is just a signet ring. Nice crest, by the way.”

“Why alone?“ Cullen’s hands tightened slightly in reassurance. “Why did you come…“

“The Free Marches hasn‘t lost an entire noble family since the Vael massacre. The family didn‘t want to risk anyone else to your… what they saw as your quest for revenge. So I volunteered. I have no one left to lose.” He shrugged, “Not many were sorry to see me make the sacrifice. My death would leave opportunities, you see.”

Asta turned her face into Cullen’s shoulder, and he felt her breath warm his chest as she tried to collect herself. Josie spoke again, “Please, Bann Trevelyan… we are all confused and overcome. We do not understand. With the Inquisitor’s permission…”

“Yes,” Asta whispered into her husband‘s chest. “You can come in.”

Once inside, Josie poured out whiskey, and handed it out, sitting down with her own glass a little closer to Rylen than duty required.

“Explain,” Asta searched her father’s face for answers, but set her glass down firmly without tasting it. “What happened? You mentioned assassins…”

“The fire started in the middle of the night,” For the first time, Cullen realized that the Bann’s face was white and creased, his forehead pinched, and nostils flared with stress and grief. The sound of his wife’s pain stabbed at him. “That’s what I was told. I was away - and I don’t believe that to be coincidence. It started in the children’s corridor - you remember the nursery floor, how it was laid out - the grandchildren…” his voice broke. “They weren’t really young enough for the nursery any longer - but we still had them sleep there…” His eyes rested on Ian again, trying to bounce in his mother’s arm and on her lap. His mouth twisted in amusement, “You and Max… started so late.”

“If you had your way I wouldn’t have had children at all!” Cullen took Ian, before he could try to slip out of her arms as she attempted to gesticulate and hold him at the same time.

The Bann shifted his head so that it rested in his hands. “I’m only human. The Chantry has always been a logical place for younger children…”

“All of Thedas needs to stop using ’being human’ as an excuse!” Asta flung back at him. “It’s racist garbage. As if being human excuses every flaw! You don‘t hear elves saying, ‘Oh, I‘m descended from the Evanuris, and they argued constantly,’ or Qunari bashing people‘s heads in while saying ‘Oh, it‘s just what we do…’”

Rylen hemmed a little at that, “Actually…” he started, before Josie elbowed his ribs again. “Nevermind.”

The Bann lifted his head and eyed her, incredulously. “Are we really having this conversation now?” His eyes were just as hard as hers.

“Proceed,” Asta said, after a few moments of war-like silence.

The Bann nodded and took a shallow breath, “As I said - it started on the children’s corridor, the magistrate told me. But there were several fires started, that were all designed to spread quickly. The little ones… they were found in the remains of their beds. They never woke up, thank the Maker,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Cullen echoed, “Thank the Maker,” and clutched his son a little tighter. Ian squirmed to get down, but he ignored him. Josie was wiping tears away with Rylen‘s handkerchief. His own wife’s eyes were dry, but he had never seen such pain in them.

“I was on my way home, and Margrave - you remember Margrave?” Asta nodded, “He caught up with me. We were far too late. Your mother… Penelope is gone. And Leonard. Most of the household never got out at all.”

Asta rocked with silent pain, her eyes closed and mouth covered as Cullen whispered, “Who? When Skyhold burned… we thought it was you. All the signs…”

“We thought the same - that it was retaliation for… my misplaced request,” the Bann cleared his throat. “Inquisitor, if you didn’t burn my home, who did?”

Cullen cleared his throat, seeing that his wife was beyond words. “We could ask the same.” He paused, “My Lord…”

“Please, call me Oscar, Serah,” the Bann countered. “Your wife may not claim me as her father any longer, but… I have nothing left but two children who despise me. My title is empty. I wasn‘t even a good enough steward to keep my grandchildren alive. What good am I?”

“Oscar,” Cullen tried, the word sitting awkwardly on his tongue. “With your permission, I would like to send some scouts to your property from Kirkwall. To look into matters there. But I can assure you - no true agent of the Inquisition did this. My wife speaks the truth. The Inquisition stops wars, it doesn‘t start them. Not with her at the helm.”

“Especially with her own family,” murmured Josie.

“Do as you will,” his story told, the Bann seemed smaller and his eyes refocused on the baby. “May I…” he motioned with his head to Ian. “Just the once. Please?”

Cullen hesitated, glancing at his wife. She met his eyes, tired and heartbroken, and nodded. Cullen lifted Ian and handed him to the older man, whose eyes folded in an attempt at a smile, a pale echo of his daughter‘s. “This is Ian Magnus,” he introduced. “Pup, this is your… grandfather.”

Ian sucked on his fingers and didn’t make a sound, hardly sparing the man a single glance.

“And… Philippa?” The Bann asked, very quietly.

“Pippa is at her aunt’s home,” Asta pressed her lips together. “She has several aunts here. I would suggest you don’t go looking…” Cullen pressed her leg with his hand in earnest supplication, and Asta looked upward, swallowing her harsh words.

The Bann sighed. “Inquisitor… I… I…” his mouth twisted bitterly. “I am sorry. For everything.”

Asta eyed him coldly, “I wish I could say the same. But… I am sorry I leapt to conclusions regarding the fire at Skyhold. And I am sorry for your loss. And…” she pressed the palm of her hand against her eye, “and I swear to you, the Inquisition will use all its resources to find the true arsonist, and… and…” she averted her eyes and rose, hand falling to her side, “Forgive me. I… can‘t.” She staggered towards the door with one last instruction, “Cullen, don’t leave him alone with Ian.”

Josie, Cullen, Rylen - still with his hand on his sword - and Oscar Trevelyan all stared at each other over an increasingly squirmy Ian’s head. “Josie-my-love, time to work your magic,” Rylen muttered uncomfortably.

“I have no idea what to do in this situation,” Josie muttered aloud, eyes wide and focused. “I can’t even treat it like a peace treaty where one party has departed due to the terms being unacceptable…” She cleared her throat. “Perhaps I could offer to send a letter for you? There must be someone…”

“Not really,” the Bann confessed haltingly, staring at Ian‘s bald head. “Maxwell has been informed already. I took ship directly from Ostwick, after my siblings and cousins had their say. Pippa is still legally my heir - not that I’m expecting her to travel back with me -” he hastened to explain. “There’s nowhere to live, and I had that… Vivienne woman investigated after I received your letter, Ambassador. I didn’t like what my people found. Penelope and I had a fight about it. The Circle is no longer an option for my granddaughter, even if… well. As for everything else… I’m waiting for my bankers to let me know… what is left. Most of what we had is - was - tied up in the land and the buildings.”

Cullen rose, and then sat again, unsure what his role was supposed to be. “My Lord…”

“Oscar.”

He nodded, but didn’t repeat the name, “I need to see to my wife, but I’ll have to take…”

“Oh,” the Bann’s mouth turned down. He handed Ian over meekly. “Thank you for the introduction, Serah. I didn’t think I’d ever meet him. He’s… a strong and bonny lad. I’m sure you’re proud.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Should I address you as Commander? I fear I never served, and am not familiar with the normal forms of address after retirement…”

“Oh, just call him Cullen, man!” Rylen blustered. “All this dancing around is driving me…” Josie coughed. “Josie-my-love, Ostwick nobles are the prissiest bunch. They’ve got sticks so far up their…“ She coughed again, more pointedly, “That is…” He gave up when she glared. “Nevermind.”

“Cullen is fine.” Cullen shouldered his son, who rubbed his face against the shoulder of his furry cloak. “I think Pup’s tired in any case. We started early this morning, and I don’t think he slept while we traveled. It was rather cold on the road. I… will return, if my wife allows. And then perhaps… we will see. Josie, do we have room…”

“I’ll stay at the inn!” the Bann rose and swayed with fatigue. “I don’t want to put my… the Inquisitor out. Or cause trouble in your household, given our…” his words trailed off weakly, “estrangement.”

“My Lord, you are exhausted,” Josie scolded. “You must stay here. At least until your… the Inquisitor makes a decision about what to do.” Her eyes met Cullen’s, who nodded, albeit reluctantly. “I will brave the Inquisitor’s ire. You‘re in no state to travel, even to the inn.”

Cullen climbed the stairs without a word, leaving the hard questions to Josie’s expertise, with Ian already half asleep on his shoulder. He laid him down in his cot gently, crooning softly before leaving the room for two doors down. He found his wife sitting on their turned down bed, her prosthesis removed, and rubbing the stump of her arm, staring out onto the snowy fields outside their balcony door. “Love?”

She started, “What? Oh.” Her gaze drifted off again. “Sorry for abandoning you… I couldn’t tell what was a lie anymore, and I… panicked. Is Josie very angry with me?”

“Josie is in shock, as are we all,” Cullen pulled up a chair next to the bed. “You couldn’t tell what was a lie?” He rested his hand on her knee, wanting to pull her close but not sure if he should.

“He couldn’t be telling the truth,” Asta’s voice broke. “He can’t be! All those people… dead? My nieces and nephew - Maker, Cullen, Rhiannon was 7! Not much younger than Pippa!” she choked, “They were just babies when I left…” she lifted desperate eyes to him. “They’re not dead. It has to be a lie!”

“I’m sorry for your loss, love.”

“ _My_ loss?” Asta swallowed, “I guess… I guess it is, isn’t it? I should have Josie arrange a memorial… Write a letter to Leliana - my father would appreciate a special Chant in their memory in Val Royeaux…” she stood, and took an uncertain step, as if to start pacing, “Maker, Cullen… there’s so much to do… where’s Ian? You didn’t leave him alone with…” she made a sudden movement towards the door, and he caught her wrist.

“No,” Cullen tugged her down again. “You don’t have to do anything but grieve. Josie will handle it. I will handle it. Ian is asleep in his room. Your… your father understood.” He cleared his throat, “I don’t mean to push - but - has this… changed things?”

Asta stared, eyes wild and wet with tears, “Yes - no - I don’t know! If Max and I are all he has left how… how… but he can’t have Pippa! And we aren’t leaving Ferelden! Our home is here!” She clutched at his arm. “He can’t make me leave, Cullen. This is our _home,_ isn‘t it?”

“I’m not going back to the Free Marches, not even if he offers to make _me_ his heir,” Cullen soothed her, running his hand along her hair to where it was falling out of her knot, and pressing his forehead to hers. “Our home is here, as you said. Pippa’s home is with us. I think Ferelden is a lot more stable these days than the Marches - don’t you? But you can admit that he’s your father and still… stay here.”

Asta shook her head, “I’m afraid. If I’m his daughter, then…”

Cullen chuckled, and hoped he wasn’t out of line, “Love, you act just like him.”

“I do not.” Asta looked horrified.

“You both bite your lips when you‘re thinking, and you have the exact same tilt of your heads when you approve of something. He has more grey in his hair, but otherwise, it’s just like yours - wild and not amenable to confinement.” He stopped, and in a softer voice, continued, “He’s treated me with respect, love. He asked me if ‘Serah‘ was sufficient when addressing a former Commander…”

“I‘m not going grey!” The protest was feeble. “Love, how can I…”

“You are far more like your father than your mother, I assure you.” Cullen dodged the question.

“No, I’m not!”

“You’d rather be like your mother?”

Asta choked, “My mother is dead!” Cullen went silent. “But no.  I suppose.” Her hand tightened on his. “He was… polite to you? Really?”

“Yes,” Cullen cupped the back of her neck. “Will you give him another chance?” Asta peeked up to meet his eyes, her own watery and fearful. “I know what I’m asking. I know this is hard. But the Inquisition believes in second chances, doesn’t it? And we have to stop whoever is starting fires. Argyll might be next, if we aren’t careful. He has information we need. I‘m sure of it.”

She pressed her eyes closed, and two tears overflowed before she answered.

“I will try. To give him a chance.  We'll watch him carefully, and we'll see.” She took a deep breath, “Will you go fetch Pippa? Or… perhaps send Rylen. I trust him and I need you with me. I think - I think it’s time she met her grandfather. If she wants to. Give her the choice. She doesn‘t… have to come.”

Cullen nodded as he pulled back. “I’ll get Rylen right now.”

 


	81. The Power of Mercy

By the time Rylen came back with Pippa, Dorian was charming the socks off Bann Trevelyan, much to Josie‘s relief. The tension in the room had decreased significantly with the Magister‘s efforts, though Asta was leaning up against the wall, arms folded and closed off. “Indeed, Ser, we have the chart in the library right now - safely locked up tight! We‘re definitely related… and through the most surprising connections!”

“I find that very hard to believe, Magister Pavus,” the Bann had begun, his gaze shifting between the mage and Bull’s threatening muscles, and then back to his daughter, who watched with no expression. The Bann’s jaw was purpling with a bruise, and Cullen was far too satisfied at his wife‘s efforts, given their need to make peace with this man.

When Pippa entered, flanked by Rylen with his hand _still_ on his sword, the Bann rose. “Phil… I mean, Pippa, I presume? Do you know who I am?”

Pippa’s eyes had gone distant, and she frowned, “You’re supposed to be my grandfather. My mother was furious with you. Mum still is.” She frowned, “She hit you? Mum hit you?!” Cullen repressed his amusement. Pippa grinned, “You must have deserved it. Da says Mum doesn‘t hurt people that don‘t deserve it.”

The man merely nodded, dumbstruck. “Maker, you’re like her. Like Laurel.”

“No, I’m not, I’m me.”

Dorian steered Rylen and tugged Bull out of the room, leaving the family alone, except for Josie, always fluttering in the background, trying to be unobtrusive.

“She said that to me once, when I told her she was like her Aunt Lucille,” the Bann smiled, and it was Asta’s smile, but disappeared quickly. “I’m not here to take you away, my dear. Or send you anywhere you don‘t want to go.”

Pippa’s face firmed. “I wouldn’t let you. And Mum would hit you again.”

“And I would deserve it,” he muttered with a sad quirk of his lips. “Your grandmother is - was - a very determined woman. Much like Evelyn, er… your Mum.”

“She was mean,” Pippa corrected. “Determination doesn’t have to be mean. Mum isn‘t mean.”

“That too,” the Bann cleared his throat. “I am sorry if I scared you. I was… excited, to find out Laurel had a child. Your mother was my firstborn, and we were very close, until…”

“Until you sent her away,” Pippa pressed. “And my grandmother was not excited. She wanted my mother to disappear. Mum, too.”

“Laurel wasn’t supposed to go so far,” sighed the man, the lines of his grieving face deepening. “She was supposed to be at the Ostwick Circle, able to come home on holidays - as if she were at a boarding school. Your grandmother arranged everything behind my back, and then it was too late… all of my contacts within the Chantry could do nothing to bring her home. I tried… but by the time I made progress, I was told she didn‘t want to come back at all.”

Pippa’s face relaxed, “That’s true. My friends say you really didn’t know. How did you not know? You lived with her! She was mean!” Her mouth gaped, her eyes still distant, “You didn’t know she sent Mum away either?”

“Evelyn wasn’t supposed to leave home for years,” he whispered. “Not until she was at least eight. Yes, we intended her for the Chantry, but her night terrors… they scared Penelope.”

“She thought Mum was another mage, and wanted her out of the house,” Pippa’s mouth curled in disgust. “You have horrible taste in women, grandfather.”

“Our first choices are not always our wisest,” he agreed, swallowing so that his Maker’s Apple bobbed. “Evelyn… your Mum made a better choice, I think.”

“Da is great,” Pippa sat down cautiously with a smiling glance at Cullen, who smiled stiffly. “He taught me how to ride, and is teaching me to use a sword. I want to be a Knight-Enchanter when I grow up. I‘ll do a better job if I learn how now.”

“You can ride?” The Bann’s face lit up. “Do you think we could…”

“Not alone,” Pippa laughed. “Mum doesn’t trust you. I won’t be able to change her mind. You’ll have to do that for her. Over time, maybe. But… there’s always people around here. Mum might even come, if someone can watch Ian. She can’t handle him and the horse at the same time. And I… I’m pretty good at my magic now. I can protect myself a bit,” she warned, offhand, as if she knew she didn‘t need to. “The Inquisition doesn’t have all its horses here, but we’ve got a few good ones. And a Battle Nug. And a Dracolisk or three… Master Dennett didn‘t have room for all of them at home, and the Iron Bull couldn‘t be parted from his Asuna. She bites.”

The Bann leaned in, “If you don’t mind me asking… what the Void is a Battle Nug?”

The smile on Pippa’s face was rather wicked, “Da, Mum, can I show Bann Trevelyan the stables?”

Asta nodded curtly, and turned from her place by the wall to lead the way. “Follow me… Father.”

***

Asta sipped coffee the next morning, head tilted back and her eyes tired as she stared dully at the ceiling. It wasn’t a day for tea. “Josie, we have to rebuild Skyhold. We just don’t have the room for all these people. I know it’s months before spring, and trying to do any of the sort in the dead of winter is the height of foolishness… but we did manage after Haven…”

“Already begun, Inquisitor,” Josie said too softly, and shoved a small stack of letters towards her. “I took the liberty of drafting several letters to our best sponsors last night and this morning. I thought it best to emphasize the scholarly side of things… given our new purpose.” Her normally assured voice was weak.

“Josie, you are a genius, and dare I say it with my heretical mouth, a blessing,” Asta’s fatigue took over, and she closed her eyes, set down her cup, and rubbed them with her hand. “Where is he now?”

“He’s in our last remaining spare room,” Josie sighed. “Which used to be mine. I… moved my things to Rylen‘s.” She flushed. Rylen looked smug, and then winced, as if knowing his gloating was inappropriate. “Promise me you’ll never tell my mother. She would skin me alive for the impropriety. But we needed the room, and the man was exhausted. I can always move back, after his… visit ends.”

“The fuck you will,” Rylen muttered. Josie smiled.

“We’ll see.”

“Thank you,” Asta sighed, and set the empty cup down. The maid offered the carafe, and she shook her head. “No, thank you. No more. I… can’t be jittery today. Too much to do.”

“There is one more thing I need to bring to your attention,” Josie cleared her throat, “Grand Enchanter Fiona is missing, and the maids were given a note to deliver to her… His Majesty.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Rylen slammed his crockery mug into the tabletop, and Josie frowned at his display. “I swear, you nobles have the most messed up ideas about family! Where’d she go, Josie-my-love?”

“I have no idea,” Josie blustered. “I’m not Leliana… I didn‘t have her followed…”

Rylen chuckled, and shook his head. “She couldn’t have got far, in the middle of the night. She would have known Alistair would be on her trail as soon as she…”

“She told the maids three days ago that she wasn’t feeling well,” Josie said primly. “An indisposition of the stomach, and asked not to be disturbed. It’s been far longer than just last night, Rylen. She left before we returned, I believe.” The man drummed his fingers on the table, and stared at his fiancée expectantly. Josie blushed, “Very well, I admit, I suspected she might do such a thing. Cook intercepted a letter from the College, who have denied her re-admittance. I know nothing else. I wasn‘t going to have a guest watched.” She flushed a deeper plum red. “I already crossed the line when I asked Cook to let me see any mail that arrived for her.”

Asta lifted her head in alarm, “She has no where else to go, then?”

“Her background does not indicate that she does, no.”

Asta rose. “Then we get the Queen, and we track her down. Josie, if my… if my father comes looking for me, tell him I‘ll be back shortly.” Josie inclined her head, and sipped her tea. “I’ll be with the Queen.” She grabbed a breakfast roll and moved out. “And don’t wake Cullen. He had a rough night. I‘ll take Ian with me.”

***

“Oh, I know where she’s going,” the Queen, irritated at being interrupted so early in the morning, pulled a robe around herself. “Alistair got the letter last night. She’s going to the Deep Roads, as a Warden does when they hear the Calling. On foot, no less, because she had this idea you‘d track her down for horse thievery if she borrowed one. Fool woman.”

“She’s not tainted!”

“No, but it’s a fine place to die when you‘ve got no place left to go, and she‘s a romantic sap, heading for the place that she spent the most time with Maric. You might have noticed she‘s not exactly stable,” snapped the Warden, “Not unlike the rest of us. Alistair is already on the road. He knows where she’s headed. I was… unwell in the night, and he forbade me to come. And no, he doesn’t usually forbid me anything. So when he does, I listen, damn it. And yes, I’d rather have gone with him. But they’ll be back after they finish yelling at each other and saying hurtful things…”

“I want to offer her a job,” Asta interrupted. “I want her to teach mage apprentices at Skyhold if she won’t return to Denerim with you.” She held her breath.

Elissa slumped in relief. “Thank the Maker. She’s too proud to accept our invitation. As if we care two coppers about her background or past when she’s Alistair’s mother. But with a formal title again… we can work on her, maybe. Ease her into life at court. We both had to learn the hard way.” She worried at a loose thread at her robe. “I’ll get dressed, shall I?”

Asta ignored the hint, “If you aren’t worried, then…”

“Of course I’m worried. The Deep Roads are a place to die,” the Queen rolled her eyes. “But… as much as I want Alistair to have his mother at his side, I’m also starting to see the implications. I think… I think it might be best to take it slowly.” She cracked her neck sideways, irritably. “If you offer her a position, then she’ll be prominent enough to invite to court. I’ll have Teagan start a few handy rumors about her relationship with His Majesty, and then we can confirm them after the obvious dissidents are dealt with, all while keeping her safe. It’s… probably better this way.” She snorted, “It’s better that she’s a former Warden and Grand Enchanter than the scullery maid Alistair thought she was for so many years. It gives her training in defense, if nothing else.”

“Should we send someone after them?”

“No,” Elissa sighed. “Cheesy… sulks.”

Asta giggled, “Really?”

“It’s terrible,” Elissa stressed. “He’ll get angry, and stew for several days, but will come out of it and make the right decision. He just needs time.” She shut the door. “Once they’re staring at each other in silence, you and I can come to the rescue.” She pulled open the wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of pants, pulling them on under her robe, and cursed the laces as she tied them. “I’m eating too much.”

Asta bit her lip. Realizing what she was doing, she scowled, and released it. “Actually, I probably won‘t be free for some time. My father arrived, and while we aren‘t exactly…”

“Oh, we heard,” Elissa grinned, and her laugh lines curved upward. “Hard to miss the familial tension. Welcome to the party. Fun, isn’t it? So you’re stuck here? Perhaps we could borrow Ser Cullen, if that’s the case? Oh, no, he doesn‘t like the Deep Roads. Is there someone else we could take as a representative?”

Asta sighed. “Josie can draft a letter for you to take.”

“Good,” Elissa nodded abruptly. “Now leave and let me finish getting dressed. I told Alistair he had twenty four hours to catch up with his mother before I was coming after him. He‘s already down four. The man couldn‘t sleep.”

***

Scout Harding’s letter arrived a full day after Elissa, with two of her Wardens, rode out on Inquisition horses to find her husband and mother in law, an unworried, unhurried look on her confident face.

　

_Dear Inquisitor,_

_Thank the Maker that you’ve got something for them to do. I have a list of about twenty volunteers that are going insane up here. I’d come too, but unfortunately I’m essential personnel, as Thane Sunhair will probably slaughter the lot of us without me to smooth things over. Sorry. Cabin Fever is real._

_Expect the first set of mages in about two weeks, given time for them to pack and Dennett to send mounts - hopefully the rugged sort. For some reason this particular set of scholars doesn’t want to wade through hip-deep snow (theirs, not mine, my snow is up to my chin) to make their way down the mountain. Go figure._

_The list of mages is enclosed. Have fun. Sure you will, with new dusty ruins to explore. Oh, and Kenric says ‘Hi,’ and that your book is brilliant. He read it a second time over the course of the winter. The other list is a list of questions he wants you cover in the next edition. And now he’s working himself up about whether or not the Chantry will allow a second edition… and is writing you a glowing review hoping to inspire just that._

_I read it too, but all I can say is that book belongs on the list of ‘Especially Banned Books’. Ancestors, Asta, I hope you know what you’re doing, writing something like that._

_It was good to hear from you. If you get a chance, send a messenger with a few more of those puzzle boxes, two dozen sets of Wicked Grace cards and a crate of whiskey, will you? Because we’re all sniping at each other, and this is supposed to be the mildest winter in twenty years. I can barely go outside to the privy unless someone has shoveled first. I won’t tell you about my attempt to learn how to snowshoe. No need to embarrass myself. Sunhair laughed herself silly._

_I adore K, but this is the last winter I ever spend in the Frostbacks. Next winter, if Skyhold isn’t an option, I’m staying with my parents in Denerim. If he misses me so much, he can join me there. Mom and Dad probably want to talk to him anyway._

_Talk to you soon, I hope,_

_Harding_

Cullen snorted, and handed the letter back to his wife. “I think Mia has blacksmith puzzles in stock. I’ll place an order. That Avvar trader she’s so fond of should be coming back through pretty quick, maybe we can hire him to make a delivery to Harding. Nothing like a care package to boost morale.”

“We should send some crafting materials,” Asta sighed, and made a note on the board she had taken to carrying in front of her. “And a few extra books. That might help those who don’t care for cards or chess or puzzles. Or drinking. Or winter sports…”

“They could have gone to Kirkwall…” Cullen started to protest.

Asta pinned him with a look and a smile. “I would have chosen the Frostbacks, wouldn’t you?”

Cullen chuckled, “I suppose I would.” He nodded at Pippa, “They… they look well, don’t they?”

Pippa was putting on a display of magic for her grandfather, raising a barrier, and showing him how she could arc lightening between her fingers, laughing when one stray bolt struck him, making his hair stand on end.

“They do,” Asta glanced up. “Cullen… I think we’re going to have to offer her the option. She deserves the choice,” Asta sighed and rubbed her forehead. “If she wants to, she should be allowed to go. If the Circles were still around, she’d already have left home. Rhys might even agree to travel with her. Ostwick is closer to the Seekers, and Evangeline still wants to serve.  I think... I think Father would let us direct her education.”  Her eyes were sad and weary as she watched them.

“Has your father asked?” Cullen asked stubbornly.

“Not yet.”

“Then don’t borrow trouble,” Cullen watched his daughter for a moment longer. “Maybe he never will.”

 


	82. Assumptions

Fiona and Alistair, an amused Queen and two overly merry Wardens rode back into the front yard of Argyll the next day. After dismounting, Fiona wrung her hands in front of Asta. “I apologize for my absence, Inquisitor,” she murmured. “I understand you wish to…”

“I want to hire you to teach at Skyhold,” Asta took her hands warmly. “Say yes.”

“I accept gladly,” Fiona replied, with some amusement of her own behind her fatigued eyes. “Believe me, I understand the… diplomacy behind the offer.”

“Everyone wins,” Elissa grinned, and tugged a sulky Alistair away, “even Cheesy, eventually. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

The King pouted in his wife’s general direction, and then smiled softly. “Pushed around again.”

“You should be used to it,” she teased, and nudged him gently. “Come on. I bet neither of you has slept at all. Things will look better after you’ve watched the back of your eyelids for a little while.”

***

That evening, Grim - even quieter than usual - came into the parlor, followed by Krem. The King stared at him, his face blank but for the pain in his eyes.

“So Grim says he wants to chat,” Krem cleared his throat. “I told him I’d interpret, because he doesn’t want to have to write everything out. He… does this hand sign thing, in a pinch, and only the Chief and I are any good…”

Grim grunted and signed.

“He says get on with it,” Cole said softly, from his back corner of the room.

Krem laughed, and Asta stood. “I think we should give you all some privacy… I‘m sure his Majesty would rather speak to you alone.”

Alistair nodded, his eyes stern.

Grim signed, staring at Cole intently and avoiding the King‘s gaze, a wild hope in his eyes. “He wants everyone to stay. He wants to explain,” Cole closed his eyes, not watching the man’s hands at all. “Grim says, ’You aren’t wrong, about who I used to be, or what happened. But I’m not that man anymore. You are. You’re what I wanted to be - a hero king like our father. Before, I didn’t understand. I wish I could claim you as a brother. But I can’t…’” Cole broke off, frowning at the man. “He’s wrong.”

Grim signed furiously, and Krem fidgeted. “He says a merc’s got no point shoving himself in with nobles, family or not. People would think the Chargers were trying to worm their way into your good graces. Says you’re better off without him. You’re doing better’n he ever did, even with Anora pushing him in the right direction.” Krem snorted, and elbowed his brother at arms. “Can’t believe you ever had her, mate. Good on you. Seen her pictures.  Damn.” Grim grunted, and looked regretful, casting his eyes down. “Eh, we can’t all have happy endings. I certainly don‘t expect one,” Krem sighed and scratched his head. “That it, Grim?” Grim nodded, still looking down, and then glanced back up, and signed again. “He just didn’t want you to hate him. For landing you where you didn’t want to be. He thought Anora would take the throne. Thought she’d be stronger, stand up to her Pa instead of try to use his fame for her own ends. He thought she’d remarry. Have kids. He’s sorry.”

Alistair rose, choking, “He’s sorry? Sorry?” Elissa reached out and touched his arm. “No, my dear, he needs to hear this. He was educated for this. Raised to this. He didn’t have to bumble his way through, making mistakes and figuring out who couldn’t be trusted the hard way. He didn’t have to hear people sniggering about his common mother for a decade whenever his back was turned. Cailan’s mother was a hero.”  Elissa pressed her lips together.

Grim signed, “So’s yours.” Krem translated. “Word is, she stopped the Architect from taking over 20 years before the Blight.”

“I…” Alistair stopped dead. “I suppose she is. But that‘s…” he smiled, “Well, perhaps it could be made common knowledge.  But dear old Da actually married your mother, and that's all people in Denerim seem to care about.”

Grim signed again. Krem choked out, laughing, “He says that if it helps, his Ma slept with Loghain during the war. He heard about that all his life. Nearly made him not marry Anora, ‘cause he couldn’t quite… deal with knowing that his Ma had done it with his wife‘s Pa. He thinks that should make you feel better about things?”

“Wow, Eamon’s sister had really bad taste. Must run in the family,” Alistair was trying not to grin now. Grim signed emphatically. “If you knew, then Anora knows, right?”

Grim shrugged, mouth twitching with humor and signed slowly. "He says that they never discussed it."

“All right, then,” Alistair sighed. “From the way my wife tells it, I don’t have much to forgive. I mean, the Warden life is a hard one.  Between archdemons demanding your lives, and the taint stealing everything good about being alive, and your brothers and sisters trying to slit your throats for the power of your blood - well, we're probably better off. With your absence, you made me king, more's the pity. I’ve had years to learn to cope. I’m still doing a terrible job, if you ask Eamon…”

Grim signed, and shook his head. “Says you did better in the first year than he did in five, from what he remembers from arguing with Loghain,” Krem filled in. “Says that the Landsmeet was just as divided about him taking the throne - he was confirmed by a nug’s hair. Typical for the banns - they‘d rather vote for the guy their neighbor hates than pick one that might actually do a good job.”

“Well, Loghain would have been a terrible king,” Elissa summed up. “Too much history with Orlais to be impartial. Good general, horrible king. And my father certainly didn‘t want it when they offered it to him. I remember that much.”

“Anora would have managed,” grumbled Alistair.

Grim nodded ruefully, and signed, “She had the brains for it. But even more ambition than her Pa.” Krem flushed, “Just repeating what he says.”

Elissa shrugged, “She couldn’t have gone higher than Queen of Ferelden. She’d have been okay.”

Grim signed, shaking his head in contradiction, “Not with her Pa around. You did what you had to.”

***

“Asta!” Petri found her in the stillroom, panting. “I know what the Architect was trying to do!”

“What?” Asta dropped the knife she was chopping ingredients with. “I’m right behind you.” She followed him to the library, wiping her hands on the cloth at her waist and grimacing at the green stains on her fingers. “You don’t have a pair of gloves, do you?”

“Yes, but I’d rather you just not touch anything.”

Outside the doors, the Queen met her, brought by a very smug Dorian. “I found her, Petri,” he bragged. “Shall we blow their minds, my friend?”

“Go on, tell us,” Asta urged.

“He was forming a sentient darkspawn army, with the intention of blighting the entire world,” Petri was unrolling various scrolls. “Look. From talking to Fiona about her ‘Cure’, he was using a spell that increased the rate that the Blight moved through a living being. He has detailed maps of Weisshaupt, of the Deep Roads everywhere, of various entrances to the surface…”

Asta shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“I think he thought that if he Blighted everyone, the Blights would end,” Petri stressed.

“Yes, that sounds like him,” murmured Elissa. “Maker, I’m glad I didn’t fall for it. Killed him deader than dead. I hope.”

“But there’s more. If your theory is right, about Solas being the Maker, and if the taint reacts to spellwork...”

“Then Solas has a direct link with the Blight,” Asta rubbed her head. “The Maker created the Blight?” She sat down in a chair, stunned. “The Blight is nothing but a spell, a curse?  Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

“Or Fen’Harel, or whatever you want to call him,” Petri rocked on his heels, “But yes, if he is the Maker, he was directly responsible for the curse that is known as the Blight. The Magisters, with their corruption, were cast out of the Golden City, already tainted, and spread that Blight, that curse, to Thedas. But Solas - if he’s the Maker, and I know you think so - is the father of the Blight. He created the Blight as a trap for the old gods, but the old gods conspired to have the magisters trapped in it instead. They were nothing but pawns.”

“Just as he thought Corypheus would die when he opened the orb. It was a trick, a trap, all along,” Asta rapped the table with her knuckles. “And what the old gods really wanted was a way into the Golden City, if we can believe the Chant. But why?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

“Call in everyone. We’re calling a fucking War Council. Now.”

“I’m getting Nathaniel,” Elissa spoke firmly. “He needs in on this. This effects Wardens everywhere.” She braced herself on the table. “I have to warn Weisshaupt. Again. Shit, Inquisitor.” She raised her face up to look at her. “What if the Architect’s not really dead?”

“What if he’s working with the rest of them? If they all have the same goal - to get into the Fade and reach the Golden City, that‘s distinctly possible.” Asta whispered. “We thought Corypheus was acting independently. What if he wasn’t? What if they’re all working together? The Architect, Madman, Watchman, Forgewright, Appraiser, Augur…”

“Then we kill every last one.”  The lines of Elissa's face were determined.

“The only reason Corypheus is dead is because I shredded him into the Fade,” Asta protested. “I don’t have the mark any longer! How are we going to do anything of the sort?”

“You’ll think of something,” Dorian bantered. “It’s what you do. At least there‘s only six left?”

“Thanks,” Asta swatted at her friend. “Let’s just ignore how long it took to draw him out, shall we? Or the cost of reaching one of his generals, etc.”

“But you’re right,” Elissa’s voice broke. “If all this time the magisters have been imprisoned by the Grey Wardens instead of killed because the Wardens couldn’t find a way to kill them… what the hell can we do about it?”

“We have to find Solas,” Asta fretted. “If he began the curse, he can end it - right?”

All around the library there was only silence. “You’re assuming that he is the Maker,” Petri mentioned hesitantly. “Most of us aren’t so sure.”

“And even if he ends the curse, there’s no guarantee that the magisters will just go away, either,” Dorian twirled his moustache. “We’re an annoying bunch, always showing up where we’re not wanted.”

“And you’re assuming that the end of the curse would work like the werewolf curse,” Elissa said, very quietly indeed. “Returning everyone back to the way they were originally.”

“That’s a lot of assumptions,” Dorian sighed, and grabbed a book. “You know what they say about assumptions.”

“That they make an ass out of you and me?”

“No, that you’d better be able to back them up.” Dorian’s calm grey eyes fixed her in place. “Let’s get to work. You’re not an ass yet, Amica. Let’s try to keep you from going there at all. I don‘t much feel like being dragged down with you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... my chapter for Monday is in a rougher state than I'd like, and it might take me some time to wrestle it into submission. Just a heads up, for those that are used to me posting on an extremely regular schedule - I might miss Monday.


	83. Real and Ideal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... I finished 'Long and Lonely Road' so that this wouldn't be too spoilery. A few edits will be made over there, but no plot changes.
> 
> Otherwise, if I don't post this chapter, I will go insane looking at it. I'm already two days late, in some parts of the world. ARGH.

“We don’t have the room to mass an army here!” Cullen’s argument was met with a very critical look from his wife. The library itself was tight for the number of people requested to be at the meeting in the first place, and the standing only room was making tempers - namely his - short, and the topics of conversation were polarizing to begin with. Dorian was bickering with Bull in short streams of vitriolic language - the couple were on opposite sides of the debate. Their Majesties and Warden Howe were firmly in the camp of the magisters being the true threat - but had yet to offer any helpful information about how to defeat them, either. Neither of them had met Solas, Cullen reminded himself.

He wasn’t actually sure which side of the argument to take - who was the greater threat? Fen’Harel or the Seven Magisters (minus one) of legend?

Petri and Cole had retreated to a far corner, where Cole was rocking and muttering to himself, and Petri was pretending to look up a confusing rune in an attempt to protect himself from the fallout of the ongoing arguments.

Cullen rather envied Cole’s ability to retreat into his own mind. At the moment, the only people not disagreeing were Rylen and Josie, and that was mainly because they were too busy smiling at each other’s every Blighted comment to pay attention to what was actually said.

Nobody wanted to think about Solas ripping apart the Veil. Nobody wanted to think specifically about ancient magisters from the dawn of time conspiring to repeat history, either. In his opinion, his wife’s fixation on her former companion was beginning to border on obsession.

Then again, he wasn’t exactly unbiased, either. He would kill the bastard himself the next time he saw him, just for what he had done to Asta, and for the threat he posed to their daughter. But they couldn’t currently march on anyone, with the way they were spread out all over Thedas. It was an impossibility. Even if they actually knew where the blighted elf was holed up.

And that was the crux of his disagreement with his wife. Realism versus idealism.

Sometimes you can’t ride to the rescue, without months of preparation and planning. And dividing an (nearly non-existent) army to cover more than one threat… well, that was just… but his wife was speaking again.

“Then we meet them at Skyhold,” Asta pressed her lips together after an abortive attempt at biting them. “We have to meet these threats… She looked up, her face pained, “If Solas is capable of both giving his foci to Corypheus, hoping it would kill him outright, and also creating a curse strong enough to Blight all of Thedas, perhaps even by accident, if he only meant to punish the magisters, what else is he capable of? Just another thing to chalk up to his life full of bad decisions.”

“What if it isn’t a threat at all?” Josie asked quietly. “You know what he said, and that was that he was going to tear down the Veil, and that we wouldn’t like it. And we don’t have proof he‘s the Maker… Asta, think before you act… niceness before knives! Send a messenger - ask him!”

“Exactly, except we don‘t actually know where he is,” Rylen emphasized, with apologetic smile to his new fiancée. “You need scouts first. Send them after him. Hunt him down. Let them do their job. A couple of independent scouts following a few leads will be subtle, and only you and Fen’Harel will realize they are there. You may be on good terms with the monarchs of Thedas right now, but if you send in a fucking army anywhere, your progress with them will be ripped to shreds.”

Josie beamed fondly at her lover, “Oh, Rylen… you do care.”

“I can be taught,” he laughed, winking. “Unlike my predecessor.”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, I think the enemy isn’t so much Solas as the remaining magisters,” Dorian frowned. “Or the old gods. Or both of the latter. But you‘re ignoring something crucial, Amica - we don‘t know where to find either the magisters or the old gods, either. Does anyone actually have that information?! And proof might be nice, don‘t you think?”

Cullen spoke next, with an bemused glance at Rylen. “And in the meantime, Asta should be studying. Petri and Dorian have barely scratched the surface of the Architect’s work with the Blight. There are texts no one has looked at. You should be in the library right now, learning everything you can about what he’s been planning. If the Veil was breached by the Magisters, as is indicated in the Chant, if the Blight was a curse meant to destroy them… The proof is somewhere in there. It must be.” He lifted his eyes to Asta, eyes twinkling, “And if anyone can find it, it’s you, love.”

“I see,” Asta frowned. “As you are all, for once, unanimous, that marching isn’t the best idea, I will write to Scout Harding and Max, and request scouts, whoever can be spared. And also to Hawke, because I need to know more about this ‘Tallis’.”

“Our last letter from Varric indicated that Hawke and her husband were already on their way…” Josie started.

“Good, the sooner she gets here the better. If this ’Tallis’ had anything to do with rousing Fen‘Harel from his sleep… Bull… I don‘t suppose you would know where to find her?”

“Sorry, Boss. Tallis is one of the ones I didn’t keep track of, even when I was a spy. She‘s a tracker, a hunter, not in my line of work. I only know about her because Varric mentioned her ‘way back, and I made some inquiries, in case she turned up,” Bull sounded regretful.

“At least you don’t have to wait for me,” the Champion strode in like she owned the place, trailing her husband after her. “Rode in from Amaranthine. Neighborhood has improved since the last time I was this far south. Nice house,” she nodded thoughtfully. “Very Fereldan, Cullen. But not defensible enough. You might want to consider a fence. Something with pikes? Useful things, pikes. Suitable for barbarism and the heads of your enemies. Make the whole place look a little less… domestic.”

“Lady Inquisitor, I am so sorry,” the flushed maid entering three steps behind apologized. “The Champion refused to wait…”

Cullen bowed in welcome, mouth twitching. “Impeccable timing, as always, Champion.”

“I came to discuss the puppies,” she smirked, but anger fueled the flame in her eyes, “Among other things. The dogs should be old enough, right?” Despite her lighthearted words, she seemed drawn and tired. And furious. Bull backed away slightly, when she made a move to step forward, as if to force a confrontation with the Inquisitor, before her husband touched her shoulder. She shrugged him off, but she calmed outwardly.

“If their mother will let them go, yes,” Cullen drawled, attempting to appear oblivious to the growing tension in the far too small room. “She’s a little… overprotective.”

Hawke snorted, “Sounds like my mother, back in the day. We’ll see how we get along.” She twisted her foot sideways, her underlying discomfort showing for just a moment. “And I’ll tell you what I know about Tallis. There’s not much to tell. She played us all. When Varric tells the story he mostly leaves her out. It wasn‘t good for my reputation to be known to work together with a Qunari. Not after the Arishok.” She blew out fast, her cheeks flushing, “Varric said you sent a team out from Kirkwall to Weisshaupt, but… they’ll come back with nothing, if they come back at all. I can guarantee that.”

“How do you know?” Asta asked quietly.

“The remaining Wardens are too busy holding off the darkspawn trying to infiltrate from below, training their new recruits, and probably fighting amongst themselves to get off their asses and ask for help,” Hawke raised a single eyebrow. “I’d had enough fighting other people’s battles, so I took off, with their blessing, naturally. Their former Chamberlain tried to lay a fucking compulsion on me, but I countered it, easy. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut to…” she pressed her lips together, “to save my own hide. And Stroud’s. And a few other people’s. Sort of. But I can tell you anything you want to know, as long as you swear it won‘t leave this room.”

“Hawke, why…” Sebastian bit off his critical sentence.

“You have to swear,” she refused to look at him. “Sebastian… Weisshaupt never came up. And I didn’t want it to matter. Not when I finally had a reason to… I don‘t keep secrets lightly. If I tell this one, lives are at risk. Ones that can‘t be replaced. They needed time. Time I could give them, with my silence.”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “In that case, I understand. Do what you must.”

“I think this is the last secret I‘m holding onto, but I‘ll let you know, when I discover I’m wrong,” she mumbled uncomfortably, and pulled away from him to fix her bitter gaze on Asta. “Swear, Inquisitor.”

“I swear, nothing will leave this room,” Asta urged. “We need to know everything.” The other people in the room repeated her promise, a litany of murmured vows.

Josie spoke before Hawke could begin, staring at the table, “Is Thom Rainer dead?” Rylen’s eyebrows creased.

“Shit,” Hawke cursed, “I didn’t realize that you... That he…” Sebastian’s eyebrows lifted slightly at his wife, but he didn‘t draw away. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“We weren’t,” Josie replied quietly. “But… he sent a griffon feather to me, and his badge. How…”

“He fell from his griffon a few months ago, Carver said, in his last letter. They went back together, after Varric‘s wedding,” Hawke offered quietly, her focus on the table and map before them. “The darkspawn were scaling Weisshaupt, having tunneled out from underneath, when they collapsed the cells and lower levels that led to the Deep Roads, and the mages’ barriers over the holes weren’t holding. They were a last resort in any case. He flew out to cut them down… and fell. Carver said he died on impact.”

“Griffon?” The word came from more than one mouth.

Hawke grinned, but a single tear slipped from her eye. Cullen frowned. That… he had never seen the Champion cry. “You heard me.”

Elissa started cursing up a storm. “Those fucking offspring of a nug and a donkey! Now! Now that I’ve fucking been cured, now Weisshaupt finds griffons?!” She laughed, and laughed. Cullen watched the Champion wipe her eye with her cuff, taking advantage of the distraction. “Cheesy, you owe me.”

“Naturally, my dear,” Alistair smiled. “I’ll add it to the tally, shall I? Savior of Ferelden, check. Sacrificed own long-seated obsession with griffons in order to remain with her undeserving and inadequate spouse, check.”

“Really, truly griffons?” Elissa ignored him, her face somber with the news, but her eyes animated.

Hawke watched her, incredulously, “Yes, really, truly griffons. Not many, mind you. But Blackwall arrived at a crucial time. He was older, and the Wardens were eager for more experienced people - their latest recruits were all really young - too young for the Joining according to those in charge. These darkspawn are sentient - not quite like Corypheus, but bad enough. Carver says they fight like someone with a cause.” Her eyebrows creased, remembering. “Did Genitivi not warn the Divine?”

Asta’s head snapped up, “Josie - write to Leliana. Immediately. I haven‘t heard from Genitivi for…” her words trailed away. “Shit, has it been that long? We‘ve been so busy…”

“Kaffas,” Dorian whispered. “Let him be all right. The world can‘t afford to lose Ferdinand Genitivi.”

Hawke scowled, “This is why you never trust the Chantry. Secrets upon secrets.”

“We don’t know that the Most Holy is withholding information,” Josie protested ineffectually.

Hawke snarled, “He had uncovered evidence that the First Warden didn’t want to end the Blights at all - that he was trying to extend them, to make sure that the Wardens would always be in a position of power. Locking up the magisters instead of finding a way to kill them, and so on.”

“I knew it. As soon as I met the Architect, I started asking myself what, exactly, the Grey Wardens were wardens of.” Elissa hissed, “The Inquisition’s story of Corypheus was just the nail in the coffin. The Wardens are guarding them - the magisters, and perhaps the old gods. As for the First Warden- I hate that self-important ass. But griffons…” her voice was full of longing.

“It gets worse,” Hawke fidgeted, and glanced up at Sebastian. “Genitivi discovered… he discovered the Chantry was behind the assassination of that Brother who tried to spread the Chant in Orzamaar. At least, according to the testimony of several Casteless dwarves, that no one believed. And then he started… digging in the library. Turns out, it’s been ages since the Chantry was saying anything like the real version of the Chant. The things he found in Weisshaupt…” she shrugged, “I’m no scholar, but even I could see that it wasn’t pretty. What the signs point to - between the possibility of Weisshaupt being overrun with darkspawn… though Carver says they've had at least a few Wardens from other countries stay to assist. They aren't as underpowered as they were when I was there.”

“Is it another Blight?” Asta’s voice broke.

“Sweet Andraste, let it not be so,” murmured Josie, eyes scared.

Elissa faced Nathaniel, a question in her eyes. “No,” he replies. “There is no Archdemon in our dreams.”

Elissa blew out a breath, “Okay, Nate. This is a field promotion. I’m promoting you to Warden Commander of Ferelden. Forget the other ass at Vigil‘s Keep. I was never formally removed from that office, so now, you‘re it.” Cullen silently approved, as Howe seemed capable and well-respected.

“You’re… promoting me. Me?” Nathaniel lifted an eyebrow. “You do remember my last name, don’t you? Oghren has been a Warden just as long…” he realized what he was saying, and coughed. “Right, forget I said anything. I accept, of course.”

Alistair scowled in disapproval. “Elissa, my dear…”

“Better him than that excuse for a Warden at Vigil’s Keep. I can’t do it anymore, Cheesy, as much as you need someone you can trust in the position,” Elissa took a deep breath. “Besides the obvious, that I can’t actually slay an archdemon any longer, even if I hadn’t already done my part, I… have other considerations.” She flushed. “Fiona confirmed it upon her return after I was… unwell. I’m expecting.” She pointed an accusing finger at Asta, “and she’s fairly certain your daughter had something to do with it. Little magical fingerprints, was what she said.” Hawke’s eyes widened.

“Expecting? Expecting what?” Alistair blanched, his freckles and his red beard standing out stark against his face. It made him, despite the beard, look about sixteen.

Cullen resisted the urge to chuckle. At least Dorian breaking the news while they were on the run in Tevinter was a better than this. Asta could easily have been in the middle of the War Room, a few weeks later. And the way Josie’s eyes were shining already was worrisome… but the Queen was still talking.

“What the fuck do you think I’m expecting, a Kraken? We’re running out of monsters in my family.” Elissa rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t for lack of effort that we haven’t already…”

Alistair gaped like a dying fish, “Elissa, why didn’t you…”

“I just did.” Elissa folded her arms across her chest and winced at the contact, hissing the rest of her confession directly at him. “I needed to get used to the idea. We - tried - for so long. It might not last, something could still happen… I’d better not hear that this leaves this room, either!” She glared at all of them impartially, avoiding her husband‘s eyes. “I wouldn’t be saying anything now except for…”

Alistair backed away and fell into one of the chairs against the wall, staring at his wife blankly.

Cullen watched Hawke swallow, her eyes cold. “I see,” she stared at the map again. “So, we have one pregnant Queen - at least I assume you are the Queen - who is apparently no longer a Warden, a breastfeeding Inquisitor with only one arm, and me. The woman who has nothing to lose. I guess I‘m taking point on this one? We‘re rather running out of heroes, aren‘t we?” Sebastian rested his hand on her lower back and whispered consolingly. She closed her eyes and listened, leaning back against him, but said nothing, her body tense.

“Perhaps you’ll have to let the men have a turn at saving the world?” Dorian twirled his moustache. “We’re not incapable. Merely overlooked.”

“No one overlooks you, Kadan.”

“Thank you, Amatus.” Cullen rolled his eyes as Dorian preened.

“Ian can do without me…” Asta protested, and Cullen, just as quickly, opened his mouth to protest.

Hawke beat him to it. “No offense, Inquisitor, but you’re hardly a force to be reckoned with.” Hawke’s breath puffed out, cold enough to fog the air despite the warm air of the room. “Tactically, perhaps. But Ser Cullen’s better at that than you are. You‘re better off researching what could be making darkspawn act independently of an archdemon.”

“I have that answer,” Petri spoke up from his corner at last. “The Architect was experimenting on giving the darkspawn free will, increasing their intelligence, as the Formari experimented with when they created the Mabari. He was trying to release them from their Calling, so that they were no longer subject to the old gods. The runes of his early notes are so archaic that I can barely make them out, but I assure you, his intention was obvious in recent years. What attacked Weisshaupt was likely an independent army. His greatest success.”

“No,” Alistair breathed, still staring at his wife. Cullen narrowed his eyes, realizing that she was the only one not surprised. “Elissa…”

“It does sound like him,” she shifted her arms so that they wrapped over her waist. “And don’t start, Alistair. If they have free will, they can be reasoned with. I have… done something like that, in the past.”

“You want to negotiate… with darkspawn?” Josie breathed incredulously.

“Fuck no,” Elissa snarled. “We’re going to kill them all. Every one, down to the last Genlock. We can‘t kill an archdemon, but maybe we won‘t have to, either.”

“I hope that’s not the royal ‘we’,” Alistair muttered. “You do realize that…”

“Stuff it, Cheesy,” Elissa swung away from the table. “I’ll do what I have to, just like I always have. Whatever it takes.” She slammed the door behind her. Cullen exchanged a glance with his wife. She tilted her head, and he nodded.

“I think we should adjourn for the day,” Asta offered weakly. “Tomorrow, same time, perhaps?”

Alistair rose, and slowly, stumbled after his wife.

For a full minute after the door closed behind him, there was silence. And then Josie, ever the diplomat, broke the silence, “I wonder how soon I could pull together a baby shower?”

Asta cleared her throat, “Give His Majesty a few days to get used to the idea, first.”

Josie's smile grew, "But I can start planning immediately."

***

“Elissa-”

Elissa climbed the stairs to their chamber slowly and deliberately, ignoring her husband directly at her back. They entered, and he closed the door, face grave.

“You should have told me.”

“I’ve only known for a few days. Your mother says I’m only a month past conception, by measurements. Considering, it must have happened almost immediately after the ritual. I haven’t even had a cycle! It seems… impossible. A miracle, I guess.”

“Not that.“ Alistair attempted to hide his shock with facetiousness. “You told me in front of all those people! It should have been a private moment! You could have whispered it into my ear, and let me do all the glowing new father lines! I feel cheated!”

The Queen’s snort echoed. “Have we ever had a single private moment in all our married lives, Alistair? Why should it start now? As soon as we go back to Denerim, Eamon will take over this part of our lives too. There‘ll be parties and celebrations, and monitoring by healers and midwives… I‘ll be poked and prodded and observed. We don‘t dare let Weisshaupt know - even understaffed and preoccupied they are a danger. I read the record of what they did to your mother. You‘re lucky to be here.”

“I won’t let them anywhere near you,” Alistair’s voice was hoarse. “Elissa, we’ve wanted this so long… do you honestly think I’d let them? My mother was alone, at the mercy of her Order. You have me. Our… child has both of us.”

“I know,” her voice was quieter. “But Cheesy - it’s a shock. Don’t pretend it isn’t. You may not have given up, but I had…” a loud sob broke through the words. “I had long since reconciled myself to the idea of never having this with you.”

“For it to happen now,” Alistair laughed, his voice broken, “And with griffons, too… I really can never repay you, my love, for your many sacrifices.”

“In death, sacrifice,” muttered Elissa.

“Maker, you could die.” The King ran his hands through his normally impeccable hair, horrified. “Elissa…”

“Fiona won’t let me. She promised - the child and I will be safe. She was very convincing.” Elissa cleared her throat. “Just because I’m not going to die from killing darkspawn or the Blight doesn’t mean I’m not still a Grey Warden, after all. This… this is my duty, for now. To be queen, and mother of the next king.”

“Or queen,” corrected Alistair quickly. “I hope she’s just like you. A girl who’s fond of sharp pointy objects. Perhaps a little better at traps would be refreshing. Spare her poor parents from their own enthusiasm… oh, maybe the Divine would train her as a rogue?”

“Ferelden isn’t easy on its queens,” Elissa pointed out, her voice harsh. “Your grandmother never held her throne.”

“And her father lost his to an Orlesian invasion,” Alistair argued, eyes sparking, “Until my father, none of them were strong enough, were they? Besides, no daughter of yours would be weak enough to…” he laughed, suddenly. “Are we really arguing about this? This?!” He darted across the room in a lunge, and enveloped his wife in a tight embrace. Elissa’s squeal echoed through the rafters, and her resulting laugh down the hall. “I’m so happy.”

Elissa laughed, “I am, too. I think?”

“You think?” Alistair sounded indignant, and his eyebrow arched up dangerously, “What was all that work for if you aren‘t…”

“I’m happy, Alistair, I‘m just… bewildered,” her voice was very soft, and then grew wry, “Work, is it? Making love to me is work now?”

“Only the best part of my job,” Alistair protested immediately, and then laughed himself, low and sexy. “Does this mean you won’t be seducing me every chance you get? No more random kisses in the aftermath of battle? No more tackling me in every available corner of the world?”

“You aren’t that lucky,” purred the Queen. “Come here, Cheesy. I feel like celebrating.”

“Your wish is my command.”


	84. Upsetting the Balance

Hawke stalked the hall of Argyll with purpose, the boots of her armor clomping out the rhythm of her mission. She found what she sought in the library, working away. “You,” she asked Pippa, “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

Hawke huffed, “Can’t you read my mind?”

“No. My friends can sense emotion. Determination says you have something to ask me, and it has something to do with something you want. Hope says you aren’t really angry, you are sad and anxious, and that you think maybe I can help you with something. Patience thinks you should wait and Mercy…” Pippa frowned, looking upwards, “Mercy disagrees. That doesn’t happen very often.” She glanced at the Champion.

“So…” Hawke prompted. “Can you help?”

“Not if you don’t ask,” Pippa smiled, and a new gap in her teeth showed. “Maybe say ‘please’? Manners are important, Your Highness.”

“You little brat,” Hawke said with admiration.

“At least you’re honest,” Pippa sighed. “All right, you want me to help you get pregnant. It’s not easy, Hawke. Prince Vael will have to agree, otherwise I have to be really dishonest. Again. Even Cole was a upset with me. And he’s never upset about anything compassionate.” She looked down at her parchment, with her basic runes all in a repetitive row. “I really screwed with him this time. He can’t decide if I’m a good person or not. I don’t know either, any more.”

“Nobody knows if they’re a good person, except for really rotten people,” Hawke said, very quietly. “Will you help me? Us.”

“If Prince Vael agrees, yes,” Pippa sighed. “But Determination says that’s only part of it.”

Hawke braced herself. “I want to make sure that it’s a boy. None of this Andraste crap for my kid. I want him free and clear of the whole mess. It‘ll be bad enough being a Vael, and a Hawke, and the kid of the Champion, and the heir to Starkhaven, and probably a mage. He doesn‘t need some holy fate complicating things.” Her eyes bored into Pippa’s. “Can you do that?”

Pippa hesitated. “I know of someone that did. I’ve never met them, but…” she glanced up, a little frightened, her eyes wide. “I didn‘t do anything for their Majesties but… rush things along a little. Everything else was left up to chance. This is different. You‘re asking for… control.”

“Who was it?” Hawke pulled a chair towards herself and sat down, backwards. “Who wanted a boy?”

“Morrigan,” whispered Pippa, eyes wide and face tense. “She… arranged it so that she wouldn’t have a girl. Because she wanted to evade her mother’s trap, to break the chain, and wanted it for her child, too. It’s complicated, and hard, and… dark. It wouldn‘t be quite as bad, because she didn‘t have the father‘s permission to mess with… him, but-”

“Can you just teach me how to do it, then? I love learning new tricks.”

“Mercy really wants me to,” Pippa admitted. Her eyebrows drew in. “Is it wrong to teach something that gives this much control? I think I need to ask my Mum…” She frowned, “Does your Prince even know that you’re asking me this?”

“I’ll tell him if you say yes.”

“Ask now,” Pippa ordered. “I’m not going to do nothing he don’t agree to.” She turned back to her runes. “I gotta get this done.” She fidgeted with her quill. “I’m supposed to be studying.”

Hawke sighed and stood up. “I’ll go talk to him.”

***

“You asked her what?!” Sebastian slammed his hand down on the desk in the room they had taken at the inn. Hawke didn’t react as he braced himself against the sturdy piece of furniture. “Hawke… you’ve made a lot of questionable decisions over the years, and I’ve mostly gone along. But this…”

“And you haven’t? But I don’t think she can do it anyway,” Hawke prevaricated. “She insinuated that yes, she could tweak my chances, but she’s not sure of the morality,” she snorted, “of giving me my preferred gender. She lacks conviction. Without the necessary willpower behind the magic, the ritual will fail.”

“It doesn’t matter to me who you descend from,” Sebastian started.

“Sure it does. You think you’d have actually married me if I wasn’t some half-rate noble?” Hawke raised her eyebrow. “I know better, Vael. And that ignores the other half of it - look at the history of Andraste’s female descendants. Just in the last generation alone three of us have had our lives… hijacked! How many before now, I have to wonder.”

“Hijacked?” Sebastian sounded amused. “Is it a crime to have to serve the prophetess of the Maker for the good of all Thedas?”

“Not for you, maybe,” grumbled Hawke. “But you can’t say you’d want your child to be caught up in a life like I’ve had.”

Sebastian frowned, and ran his fingers along the side of the desk lightly, as if checking for rough spots or damage. “No, no, I can’t say I would. Or a life like mine, either.” His tone was grudging, “but Hawke…”

“So if she teaches me the ritual, then…”

“If she teaches you the ritual, with her parents’ knowledge, I’ll… consider it.” Sebastian stared at her seriously. “But I want you to think about this long and hard, too.”

“I don’t have to think about it,” Hawke retorted. “I already know what I want. It’s a curse to be related to Her. For the lucky, it doesn’t matter. For the rest of us - it’s definitely a curse. Recent evidence suggests that being female increases the likelihood of a troubled life, so I don‘t want a girl.” She stood, “I’ll let Pippa know what you said.”

Sebastian ran his fingers through his hair as she left, and muttered. “I need to pray.”

***

“Mum, can I talk to you? And Da?” Cullen and Asta were curled up on the loveseat in the parlor, her head to his chest, as they tried to ignore the continuing tension that permeated the household, despite of - or perhaps because of, Josie’s general excitement at the Hero’s announcement.

It wasn’t echoed by the Queen, who was finding herself more indisposed by the day, but the King had thrown himself into the preparations.

“Of course,” Asta set down her book on the First Blight gently, and smiled. “What’s on your mind?”

Pippa took a deep breath, “I have a question about magic.”

Asta exchanged a glance with her husband. “Wouldn’t Petri or Rhys be a better option?”

“The morality of magic,” Pippa corrected. “Petri would give me a generic answer, but I don’t want a Tevinter viewpoint.” She settled herself down on a footstool. “I won’t get an honest answer from anyone from Tevinter. I think they do this on a regular basis there.”

“All right, Pip. Go ahead,” Cullen rolled his shoulders as if loosening up before a sparring match. Asta rolled her eyes.

“So… the Chant says magic should serve man.”

“That’s right,” Cullen smiled. “And not rule over him.”

“That’s debatable,” Asta lectured. “That part of the verse doesn’t exist in the Imperial Chant.” Cullen and Pippa both stared at her for the correction. “Sorry,” she said, sheepishly. “Continue.”

“So… if Hope knows a ritual that serves a purpose for someone, could give them something they both need and want, is it wrong to use it?”

“What does the ritual do?” Cullen asked, after a moment of hesitation.

“It’s a variation of the ritual that I used to let the Queen of Ferelden get pregnant, fast,” Pippa muttered, staring at her feet.

“So that was you,” Cullen sighed, and hid his eyes. “This one’s on you, love.”

“A fertility ritual, then?” Asta prompted.

“That… and a little more,” Pippa admitted. “That’s the problem. A fertility ritual isn’t that big of a deal, I don’t think. But the people that want me to teach it to them want to make sure they have a boy. Or one of them does.” She glanced up. “That’s messing with the natural balance. I’m not sure if it’s moral. I’m not sure that this is a way I should serve with my magic.”

“The natural balance is a big deal in Rivain, isn’t it?” Cullen inquired.

“Yeah,” Pippa shrugged, “I know as much about the balance as I do about the Chant, and I grew up in the Chantry. It’s not like I’m not Andrastian, it’s just that… I don’t like to think about upsetting the way things are supposed to work, either. If I tip the scales too far, we’ll all fall down.” She frowned, “I can’t really explain it.”

“Will the ritual work?” Asta asked.

“If she does it,” Pippa said in a small voice. “She wants it bad enough. I won’t be involved in the ritual. It’s worked before though. Morrigan used it.” She shut her mouth like a trap, but it was too late.

“How do you know what Morrigan…” Asta’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Pippa. You keep referring to Hope as ‘he’. But is it actually…”

“Spirits have no gender. It’s the ease of the pronoun,” Pippa snapped. “Determination, Mercy and Patience I refer to as ‘she’. I needed to differentiate.”

Cullen swallowed. “I don’t like what you two are insinuating. Pippa, is Hope… Mythal?” His eyes begged her to say ‘no’.

“Just a part of her,” whispered Pippa guiltily. “Are you mad? I didn‘t do it on purpose, exactly… when I performed the summoning, she responded.”

“Well, that explains the Elvhen runes,” muttered Asta with a defeated sigh. She rubbed her forehead. “What do your friends say?”

“Mercy thinks I should do it,” Pippa admitted. “Determination is more neutral, this time around - she respects the woman‘s drive, but not much else about the situation interests her. Patience… disapproves. She thinks they should wait and let what happens happen. Hope will tell me what to do, so he must be willing.” She nudged the sofa she was facing with her foot. “But I’m not so sure. Their reasons for it are… colored by their pasts.” She looked up. “I don’t know what to do.”

Cullen cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Teach her the ritual.”

Asta spun her head, “Really?”

“Pippa is not involved in the magic itself. She’s passing on knowledge, to another adult mage, one who can make her own educated decisions,” Cullen pointed out logically. “If Hawke is willing to shoulder the responsibility…”

Asta hummed with amusement, “Pippa didn’t say it was the Champion.”

Cullen coughed, “Whatever. I think we both know…” Asta tilted her head at him. “Fine,” he bit off. “If ‘the other mage’ is willing to shoulder the responsibility, I see no reason not to pass on the information. Even in Kinloch, we didn’t destroy dubious materials, we just… locked them away. Senior Enchanters could approve access to them. Some of them were only closed up because they were from Tevinter. Silly reason, in retrospect,” he grumbled. “And… knowing ‘the other mage’s’ reasons, I understand them,” he stared down. “I wouldn’t want to doom any daughter of mine to…”

“Oh,” Asta’s mouth drew down. “I didn’t think about that.” She stood, a little unsteadily. “Listen to your Da on this one, baby.” She wandered out of the room, sniffling. “A… A normal life is a wonderful gift.”

“Da, you messed up,” Pippa whispered. “Mum thinks…”

“Well, shit,” Cullen tipped his head back, as if praying to Andraste for help, and then stood up to rush from the room. “Sorry, Pip.”

The bedroom door was locked. “Asta,” he called, knocking lightly.

“Go away!”

“We need to talk.”

“You’ve made yourself quite clear,” he heard shifting. “Don’t worry, I’ve already taken the damn potion again. Go away.”

“I don’t want you to take the potion.” Cole slunk up the stairs, and knelt with a small sigh by the lock, and inserted his picks. Cullen nodded at him in silent thanks as the lock clicked open. Cole silently rose and drifted away, without a word. He turned the knob, and opened the door. A book flew through the air and hit the wall by his head. He picked it up and tried for levity, “Is that any way to treat Sister Petrine?”

“Why did you even marry me, if you thought I was doomed?” hissed Asta, furious, her hair falling down around her. “Why didn’t you find some nice girl with better odds of survival?”

“You weren’t doomed,” Cullen pointed out calmly. “I had faith you would survive.”

“And if you had known whose blood I carry…”

“Yes,” Cullen answered. “I would have. It doesn’t matter.”

“If it doesn’t matter, than let the Champion take her chances,” Asta tugged at the covers on their bed. “Tell Pippa not to teach her the ritual.”

Cullen watched her pull the featherbed off the firmer mattress. Her hook ripped the cover slightly, and a few downy feathers puffed out. “What are you doing?”

“Making room on the floor so that I can sleep there.”

Cullen caught her arm. “No, you aren’t.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” snarled Asta. “I won’t share a bed with someone who thinks a girl child of mine is doomed. So… I won’t get pregnant. There won’t be an opportunity.”

“If anyone is sleeping on the floor, it’s me,” Cullen sighed. “Asta, think. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what you said,” Asta pressed her lips together. “You said you wouldn’t doom your daughter to a life…”

“We already have a daughter, and she’s anything but doomed. Another daughter won’t change that. I meant that I understood the way Hawke was thinking. She doesn’t have the same perspective. She’s coming from a life where her sister was slaughtered, her mother murdered, her husband’s entire family killed. She wears her painful past like a… like a fucking amulet around her neck!” Cullen grabbed Asta’s shoulders. “I love Pippa. She’s ours. If she has a grand destiny, she’ll take it and fly higher than any dragon. I feel the same way about Ian. And any other child of ours, for that matter. Boy or girl, I don’t care.” He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “But Hawke does. She… she’s one step away from thinking she’s cursed. Don’t you see? She needs to feel like she can avoid some imaginary pitfall that having a daughter might involve.”

Asta pressed her hand against her right eye. “But you said…”

“You’ve already fulfilled your role,” Cullen argued, feeling like he had had this debate on his knees in the Skyhold Chantry, begging Andraste to let up on his love already. “Fate, Destiny, whatever had you in their grip has already let go. You _are_ the Herald of Andraste. You always will be. But you were never, ever doomed, love! I would never have let that happen! I would have sacrificed my life first.”

“My family’s dead. That sounds pretty doomed to me.”

“Not your fault. We‘ll find out who is responsible, and they will pay.”

“Hundreds - maybe thousands - of people died from my mistakes.”

“That happens in war. It’s terrible. No one likes it. But everyone makes mistakes. Another person may have made the same mistakes. They might not have been mistakes at all - it might have been the best anyone could have ever done - we’ll never know.”

Asta swallowed, but the tears had stopped. “Do you want more children? With me?”

“At least one,” Cullen whispered. “Isn’t that what you said? A sister for Pippa would suit me fine. A brother for Ian just as well. I’d just count myself lucky that I was the father. And you their mother?” He smiled, wide and wonderful. “They would be the luckiest kid in Thedas. Just like the other two.”

Asta sniffed. “I suppose I believe you. Help me put the featherbed back on the bed, then.”

“Did you really take the potion?” Cullen moved to assist her.

“Not yet. It was stored away in the stillroom. I didn’t remember I had moved it until I was already upstairs,” she admitted it softly.

“That's a relief. I didn’t feel like waiting another whole month…” Cullen’s eyes sparked. “In fact…”

Asta raised an eyebrow, “The bed is a mess, there are feathers everywhere, and we‘ve been arguing…”

“Dorian claims make-up sex is the best. So, we’ll make the bed after,” Cullen urged lowly. “Ian’s asleep, Pippa’s busy…” he smirked. “No time like the present. And you could use some evidence in favor of me not actually giving a damn?”

Asta bit her lip, but she smiled, “All right. But you‘ll have to prove it thoroughly.” Cullen swept her off her feet and dropped her on the denuded mattress as she laughed. “Cullen… we’ll break the bed!”

“Another casualty to the cause,” he chuckled, and stripped off his shirt. Asta let her eyes wander down appreciatively, over still-taut stomach muscles and defined arms. “Like what you see, Inquisitor?”

“More than ever,” Asta reached up and ruffled his hair deliberately. “You’re due for a haircut. It’s incredibly gorgeous right now.”

“Enjoy it now, then,” Cullen murmured. “I’ll find someone to cut it tomorrow.”

Asta swatted his ass, but he only laughed, kissed her, and proceeded to prove how little he really did care.

 


	85. Magisters and Mysteries

Dorian swanned into the library a full two hours after he was expected, with reddened eyes that suggested a sadder reason than his body language. “I have dawdled too long with Bull and Emily, enjoying Fereldan country pleasures. Maevaris insists that I return to my duty of stirring up trouble with the Magisterium. They’ll have gotten fat and lazy, I’m sure. And… you need me to find out what I can discover there. And sort out allies, if any can be had. Besides, she says that those blighted murals are still popping up regularly, often just before a slave uprising erupts. It‘s just this side of possible that Solas is based out of there.” Asta dropped her copy of Ancient Tevene for the Ignoramus. “Don’t look at me like that, Amica.”

Petri mumbled, “With the Eluvians, he could be based out of anywhere, and you’d never know.” He never even lifted his head from the runes he was tracing onto vellum.

“You can’t leave. We need you here,” Asta criticized. “I’m terrible at Ancient Tevene, you know that! I don’t have the experience. I can’t make heads or tails of this… mess! Minaeve is learning fast, but not quickly enough, and there‘s no one else… I need Lady Cerastes to watch Ian…”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Dorian admitted thickly, still not meeting her eyes. “I have another apprentice for you, Petri.”

Emily entered behind him, staring at her hands. “I want to learn,” she admitted. “Dad says it’s a good idea. He says it will give me a stronger knowledge of how the magic works, working in the old language.”

Dorian wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “She can learn with you, Asta. You’ll be study buddies!”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Dad, don’t make it weird. I‘ve already said I‘ll do it.”

Petri looked up, briefly, his eyes tired, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good. You’ll start immediately. Get a chair, and a quill, at least two inkwells and lots of blank vellum. You need to make four copies of this by tonight,” he nodded at the scroll in front of him, “so that I can send it on to people I know that might be able to help.”

Even Dorian blinked at his preoccupation, before shaking his surprise off like water, “Listen to the grumpy archivist, my duck.”

“Don’t call me that,” Emily grumbled, but went to the cupboard in the far corner for supplies. “Cole told me about that damn duck. I‘m not your shitty duck.”

“Language,” tsked Dorian with a weak smile. “I’ve got to go pack. The Venatori won’t kill themselves!” He hesitated, but pushed out, “Amica… if I could speak at you for just a moment?”

Asta frowned, but rose. “I’ll be right back, Petri.”

“Make it quick,” Petri ordered. “This is urgent.”

Asta stepped out of the library with Dorian, and folded her arms across her chest protectively, and leaned up against the wall. “Dorian…”

“I must go,” Dorian glanced around them to make sure they were alone. “Maevaris has a lead on my father, Amica. A good one. Between them, the magisters, and Solas… you need me in Tevinter. I‘m more use there. Someone knows, Asta. I‘m going to find out who, and justify all your faith in me these last few years.”

“And Bull is willing to just let you walk back into danger? Dorian, that lead is probably a trap-”

“I… we may have fought a bit,” Dorian admitted. Asta reached up and wiped away his eyeliner, where it was slightly smudged. “He’s going to send Grim and Dalish north with me again. We worked well together… before. He‘s asking them now.”

Asta took his hand. “I got used to having you around. I hate saying goodbye again and again…”

“Well, someday, maybe,” he cleared his throat. “But for now, I want you to be a friend to Em… she’s going to miss me, it’s inevitable, and while Bull is a wonderful parent, you know he can be quite permissive. She needs as many steady, loving adult influences in her life as we can manage…”

“And you aren’t permissive?” Asta snorted. “Right. Try not to worry, I won’t steer her off-course.”

“A little off-course is fine, she needs to make her own mistakes,” Dorian tried a weak smile. “I just don’t want to hear over the crystal that she’s taking vows, marrying a stablehand at the age of seventeen, or joining Vivienne in Val Royeaux in the glorious cause of Circle Reformation. Just… be there for her, will you?”

“I promise, Amicus,” Asta hugged him and then pulled back. “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as Bull is satisfied that he has packed all my pocket handkerchiefs,” Dorian choked. “So… three days, probably. He’s blubbering over my dirty laundry now. I’ll be taking a few horses…”

Asta nodded, “It goes without saying that you‘ll be missed.”

“I‘d be very worried if I wasn‘t.” But his hug was too tight, and too desperate to communicate anything but his grief at leaving. “Please, Amica, don’t rush in where demons fear to tread? Let someone else do the legwork this time.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“I know,” his voice was thick. “But I figure that if I said it, that at least then I can say, ‘I told you so’.”

***

“There’s no finding them,” Elissa despaired, staring at the map spread out on Asta‘s desk. “Yes, I was the Warden Commander of Ferelden, but I was already under suspicion due to our mysterious dual survival. They didn’t tell me about the Architect, and he was right under Fereldan soil. You think they might have mentioned it, if they knew? And with Weisshaupt destroyed, or nearly so…”

“Someone has to have that information,” Hawke argued right back. “Maybe it’s mountain passes? I found Corypheus in the Vimmarks. You found the Architect in the Frostbacks…”

“Not really,” Elissa contradicted. “The foothills, more like. Though it‘s hard to determine where you are in the Deep Roads, unless you‘re right next to Orzamaar. The Legion knows, but their knowledge doesn‘t extend to the surface, either. There are no maps that correspond both to surface landmarks and the Roads.”

“Perhaps there is one in the Anderfels?” Asta offered tentatively.

“Then we’ll never find it,” Elissa grumbled, “since that range is huge. We might as well throw darts at a map, descend into the Deep Roads and yell, ‘Hey, is there a magister down here?’”

“What about Kal-Sharok?” Asta asked even more gingerly. Her booklined study seemed very small with both of the charismatic women in it. “Would they have an idea? Or we could excavate one of the fallen dwarven Thaigs?”

“Which one? Just a different needle in the haystack, I‘d say.” Hawke pressed her lips together, “The Wardens did have a connection with the Carta. I’m still not sure what or how or why… but the first time I met the Chamberlain he called me ‘the Hawke’ just like the Carta always had.”

“Strange,” Elissa whispered. “When I went to Orzamaar, for the first time, I destroyed the local Carta’s ringleader. They’ve never worked with me. Maybe that‘s why I was so out of the loop?”

“Maybe you were too honest, maybe?” Hawke joked. “The Carta doesn’t lend itself to straightforward behavior.”

Elissa shrugged, “Maybe. Alistair and I were really isolated during the Blight. I got the impression that Riordan thought I knew more than I did, and I didn’t even know what to ask, you know? He was dead before I truly realized how ignorant we were.” She thought for another moment, “I could try asking…” she paled as her stomach gurgled. “Oh, Maker, I‘m sorry… I‘m either sicker than a dying Mabari and twice as pitiful, or starving.”

Asta walked over and rang the bell on the wall. “They’ll bring something up in a minute, Your Majesty.”

Elissa flushed, “Thanks. This is stranger than being tainted. Like having your body taken over. I haven’t eaten so much since I was first Joined.”

“Completely normal,” Asta assured her.

Hawke humphed, “Could we get to back to the map?”

“I could send scouts anywhere you two think we should look,” Asta assured them, trying to ignore the underlying tension that occurred between Champion and Hero every time Elissa‘s condition was mentioned. “If you saw the Madman in the Brecilian Forest, and thought you killed him - where would he have gone afterward?”

Elissa shrugged, “I have no idea. Didn‘t Dumat have a temple? Maybe he went there? Where was the temple to Chaos? Does anyone even know?”

“Razikale’s Temple to Mystery was in the Frostbacks,” Asta supplied. “No sign of a magister, though the Avvar always call their main tribal mages ‘Augurs‘. I don‘t believe that‘s a coincidence.”

Hawke scowled, “This is pointless. The Queen is right. Without information from Weisshaupt, we’ll never find them. You might as well be concentrating on finding Solas!”

“Who, also, could be anywhere,” Asta reminded her. “Eluvians, remember?”

Hawke cleared her throat, reluctantly. “Merrill probably knows a way to reach him. She was… recruited by, or at least corresponding with, Fen’Harel. If anyone knows where he is…”

“Will she tell you?” Asta leaned over the map between them, desperation in her voice. “Is there any chance?”

Hawke shrugged, “We were on good terms when I took ship from Kirkwall. We aren’t always - the blood magic, thing, you know? But it’s worth a shot, right? All she can say is ‘no’.”

***

Merrill’s letter came promptly back, the raven that delivered it bordering on obese. "Maker, what is Varric feeding them?"

 

_Dear Hawke,_

_It was lovely to receive your letter! I remember Ferelden as being very cold. I’m sending a scarf I made with Cassandra's next shipment - Aveline is trying to teach me to knit. I think I prefer quilting, but it‘s nice of her to be so patient with me._

_I hope Sebastian is treating you well - he was greatly improved last we spoke. You are still happy, aren’t you? If you aren’t, you can still come home. I’m sure Carver won’t mind you staying in Amell House in his absence. Or you could stay with me! I have plenty of room, and don’t mind sleeping on the floor._

_Speaking of Carver, I worry that his work is too dangerous. It sounds like a terrible lot of darkspawn that he’s fighting. He hints they have help, without telling me the details, but… what if he contracts the Blight? Can they put him through the Joining if he does? I worry for him - but don’t tell him I said so. I don’t want him to feel badly about taking risks. He doesn’t need to worry about me worrying about him._

_Thank you for the biscuits. I shared them with the Alienage children - who said they were bland and boring and wondered why they didn't have icing. I enjoyed them with tea. I liked the almond best. Thank the Inquisitor for me - it was nice of her to think of me, and for Ser Cullen to ask to be remembered to me - well, that was a shock. I didn’t even realize he knew my name. It kept me awake that night, but in the morning I remembered he wasn’t a Templar any longer - no more than Carver is. Plus, Varric gave me a piece of paper that declares that I’m officially not a maleficar. Wasn’t that nice of him? I wonder if a rogue Templar would actually take the time to read it, if I gave it to him?_

_As for your requests - I do know a little._

_For a while before the Chantry exploded, the man the Inquisitor knew as Solas was here, in the Alienage. We spoke, often. He was intrigued with me trying to restore the Eluvian, and offered a few suggestions. I thought perhaps he was Dalish, but banished, like me, sometimes that happens before a child is given their vallaslin, and he didn’t have any, so… Anyway, I thought him a nice man, if given to a strange way of speaking, like he was always quoting from something I didn‘t recognize._

_When he left Kirkwall, to travel, he said, he gave me some people to write to him through. He’s been a very good correspondent. I hate to think that the Inquisitor will hurt him. She’s not going to hurt him, is she? But I trust you. You won’t hurt him, unless he really deserves it. Probably. He’s Fen’Harel, Hawke. You know what him being alive means to me and all the rest of the elves._

_If he intends to tear down the Veil, you should know that there is a theory that everyone will have magic. Well, all the elves, anyway. A long time ago, in the days of Elvhenan, we all did. He said that having magic was like breathing to our People. That worries me, quite a bit. Can you imagine what would happen if Fenris, for example, suddenly found himself a mage? Some of my neighbors would likely not cope well. Many are very angry, and many have reason. There is the possibility that some might give into demons._

_Elves have always believed ourselves different, Hawke. So I’m not sure what would happen to the rest of you. You all might die. You all might be mages, too. But I seem to remember you telling me something Sandal told to you, long ago - didn’t he say once that the magic would come back, and that everyone would have magic again? Do you think Sandal was talking about the Veil? But why would a dwarf know anything about magic?_

_So maybe you don’t have to worry? You worry too much. But I’ve gotten off track. Back to Fen’Harel._

_Lately I’ve been sending my letters to an address in Nevarra, to an elven mage that calls himself ‘Sketch’. I think he might have known the Divine at one time, from hints he's dropped? Anyway, I’d start there. Maybe he knows something._

_Please don’t kill Fen’Harel outright, Hawke. Give him a chance to speak. This could be the elves’ last chance._

_Also, please don’t tell him where you got this. I rather like writing to him. He tells amazing stories._

_Your Friend,_

_Merrill_

***

Asta grasped the letter with a shaking hand, “Hawke, I don’t know what to say. This is… this is just what we needed.”

“Thank you?” The Champion grinned. “It’s the least I can do, I guess. It‘s Merrill taking the real risk, and she knows it. She’s choosing to trust us.” She looked away, awkwardly, before changing the subject, “So… did Pippa talk to you?”

“To Cullen and I, yes.”

“And…”

“We told her to teach you the ritual,” Asta creased a corner of Merrill’s letter with her fingernail.

“Really?” Hawke’s head snapped up.

“Mostly based on Cullen’s opinion of the matter, but, yes,” Asta noted the Champion’s recoil. “What did you expect?”

“I expected Ser Cullen to refuse outright,” a tentative smile was appearing on her face.

“I know Varric says he‘s changed, and I‘ll never know exactly how much, since I didn‘t know him before.” Asta reached out her free hand to touch the Champion’s sleeve. “He… is the product of his experiences, as are we all. Right now, a significant portion of his life is wrapped up in a daughter who happens to be a very unusual mage. He told me you were an adult who could make her own choices. He trusts you to do the right thing. Not unlike Merrill.”

“I don’t even trust me to do the right thing,” Hawke scoffed. “But thanks, I guess.” She stared down where Asta had touched her.

Asta released her sleeve. “I… I didn’t want her to do it, for the record. He convinced me. You two are more alike than you realize.”

Hawke coughed, “Unlikely. But - thank him for me.” She smiled. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go find your daughter.”

Asta nodded, and turned away. “You do that. I’m going to sit down with Josie and write a letter to Scout Harding. Perhaps she has information about this ‘Sketch’. Best not to write to him without knowing exactly what we’re getting into. Especially if he knew the Divine before.”

“Where would an Orlesian bard have met an elven revolutionary?” Hawke wondered aloud.

“One of the many stories Leliana doesn’t tell, I suppose,” Asta grumbled. “I keep meaning to ask Elissa about that.” She folded up the letter. "When you write back to Merrill... tell her to take care."

Hawke only nodded. "I always do."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... going on vacation over American Thanksgiving. Posting will be sporadic, if at all.


	86. Grim Decisions

Pippa and Hawke faced each other over the table in Asta’s study, the instructions for the ritual written out between them. “So then I blow out the candle, and…” the normally upfront mage faltered.

“And you have sex,” the little girl chirped in a non-chalant manner. “I would keep it short and simple. Excess magic usage would probably interfere with the necessary focus to make it happen. I believe part of the reason it worked for Morrigan is that she wasn’t… emotionally involved with the father of her child. Love complicates magic, sometimes. Makes it hard to direct your will where you need the energy to flow, because of where you’d rather it flow.”

“Hmmm,” Hawke sniffed. “You know too much about this crap.”

“Hope, not me,” Pippa explained. “Don‘t worry about it. The Chantry Home sucked, but the people were good. Rivain is more uninhibited about sex than Ferelden, but not like that.”

Hawke snorted, “I know I should have argued more for Rivain when Mother suggested Kirkwall as a destination.”

Pippa’s eyes went distant, and Hawke shivered. She couldn’t get used to the odd expression on her face. “No. Kirkwall was your fate. It had to happen this way. That‘s what Hope says, anyhow.” She blinked and came back to herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…”

“Nah, its fine,” Hawke shrugged it off. “It’s just the last time I was around someone that had a close personal connection to a former denizen of the Fade, it didn’t go so well, you know?”

“I’m different,” Pippa looked worried, though. “Can’t you tell?”

“Well, you haven’t gone all glowy or anything,” she admitted. “If you don’t make a habit of that, we‘re good.”

“I’m pretty sure I can’t, even if I tried,” Pippa said. “Hope’s not that close to the surface, and even if he was friends with Justice, he still wouldn‘t have recommended he do it quite that way, you know? Hope thinks differently from Justice. They might make the same choices for different reasons, or different choices for the same reasons.” She frowned, “That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Hawke shuddered, “I didn‘t need to know that they - knew - each other. How did you even know about Justice?”

“Mythal is - was - a very complex person,” Pippa shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “But so is everybody, deep down.” Hawke watched her refocus on the ritual. “Did you want to go over it again?”

“No, I think - I think I’ve got a handle on it now.” Hawke cleared her throat. “I’m going to go find Sebastian and break it down for him.” As she left, Hawke heard Pippa whisper.

“I hope you do the right thing.”

“I intend to,” Hawke replied.

***

Predictably, Hawke found her husband in the South Reach Chantry, scowling up at the statue of Andraste as if she had offended him personally. “What’s she done now?” she slid into the front pew next to him, neglecting to genuflect.

“Nothing, yet.” Sebastian’s face fell out of his scowl, softening as he shifted his stare from the icon to his wife. “I’m fighting with myself.”

“Ah.” Hawke understood - all too well.

“For many years, I wanted to serve her, with everything I had. But I don’t want my child to, I‘m struggling with that. I want better for my child.”

Hawke took his hand. He squeezed it, almost painfully. “Pippa and I went over the ritual. I know what to do.” Sebastian nodded, wordlessly. “But I don’t think we should do it immediately.”

He frowned in confusion, “Whyever not?”

“Too much uncertainty. I’m… needed, I think. And I know it’s strange coming from me, of all people, but… I think we both need to think about this a little longer.”

Now his face folded back into his scowl, “I don’t want to wait. You’ve given enough, Hawke. Your home, your family, everything you care about taken from you, again and again. How much more will Thedas ask, if we wait? Your life?” She was silent, not denying anything. “The Queen and King didn’t think about waiting, when they wanted a Cure.”

“Their lives were at stake,” Hawke argued. “And it’s not the same. There are other Wardens.”

“But there is only one of you. I know which I care about more.” Sebastian took a deep, shuddering breath. “I want to go through with it, Hawke. Tonight, or as soon as we can gather what we need.”

“No.” Hawke refused. “I have to perform it, and I’m not ready.” Her husband narrowed his eyes, and a secret thrill ran through her. “You’re giving me the look.”

“Which look is that?” his voice was stiff.

“That look. The look that says ‘I’m going to take what I want.’ It‘s a good one.”

“I am not doing any such thing.” Sebastian looked away, back up at Andraste, and ran his fingers back through his hair. “We will wait, of course. If that‘s really what you want.”

Hawke grinned, “Nah. No need.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, and then laughed. “I give up. What kind of game are you playing, Hawke?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were really okay with this,” she glanced away, back at her lap. “It’s not that bad. The ritual, I mean. I’ve done shadier things before. I can describe the ritual to you, explain what I’m going to do before I do it…”

“Before we do it,” Sebastian corrected. “Hawke, you aren’t alone in this.”

Hawke closed her eyes, opened them, and looked up at Andraste‘s shrine, with a smirk that was just for the prophet. “We’re making this decision together.” She cleared her throat, “Do you think She’ll forgive us?”

“I don’t think She cares in the least,” Sebastian admitted. “At least - not about the ritual. It’s hardly magic ruling man, using it for this purpose. Us trying to prevent our child from her own fate - well, She was a mother. No mother would want that for her child - a life of torment, and loss, as everything she thought she could depend on is slowly stripped away.”

Hawke nodded in agreement. “Will you have to pray away the guilt?”

“There is no guilt in this,” Sebastian protested.

“Then why were you looking like Starkhaven’s worst sort of weather?” Hawke raised a single eyebrow in conscious imitation of his Wicked Grace face.

The resemblance wasn’t lost on him. Sebastian flushed, and clenched his jaw. “I’m holding a grudge, I’m afraid.”

Hawke blinked. “That’s refreshing. Who can I kill for you?”

Almost against his will, he laughed, “No one. She’s already by the Maker’s side.” He lifted a hand, and wrapped it around the fist resting on his wife’s knee. “But She might be responsible for most of the misery in the life of someone I love more than words can describe. So let me have my righteous anger. I suspect She can handle it.”

Hawke whistled, the sound echoing through the high ceilings of the Chantry, and several Sisters scowled at the sound. “You’re bitching silently at Our Lady - for me?” She hid the tears in her eyes with a wide grin. “Oh, ‘Bastian.”

“Hawke,” his hissed word of warning at her cussing and blasphemy dissolved into silence, “I suppose I was. I know it’s a mistake to demand something of Her, but I was one step away from doing just that. Demanding her to give you a moment of joy, or to let me give one to you.”

Hawke unfisted her hand under his, to wrap her fingers around them instead. “That has to be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. You took on the Burning Lady for me. It must be love.”

“You’re so irreverent,” he muttered, but he rose. “Come on. I’m done here.”

Hawke didn’t move, “You’re not going to confession?”

“I haven’t sinned - yet,” Sebastian grinned down at her. “With luck, there will be time for that later.”

“Not if I have my way,” she admitted, but maneuvered herself in front of him, to lead the way. When they reached the door, she opened the door to let Sebastian exit first, and then glanced back at the statue of Andraste one last time. “I win, bitch,” she smiled at it fiercely, and wiped her feet on the rug before the double doors. “Don‘t ever play with me again.”

***

“Elissa, my love, were you expecting company?” Alistair called to his wife upon a knock on the door. The two of them had finally given into the Arl’s polite begging, and moved their belongings to the Keep, to open up more room in Argyll.

Scout Harding had finally consented to braving the too deep snow to rejoin the rest of the advisors. The Inquisitor needed the room, and would never have been able to ask the monarchs to leave.

Not that the advisors were waiting for the Scout’s arrival with bated breath - quite the contrary. From the maids’ reports (Elissa was clever with her bribes) Rylen was spending most of his time furiously writing demanding letters to what remained of his forces in Kirkwall directing their (hopefully) eventual return to Skyhold. Their Ambassador didn’t need to be kept track of at all, as Lady Montilyet was currently downstairs with Arl Bryland, who was just as enthusiastic over hosting a party as she was.

Part of Alistair was wishing that he was down there, instead of dancing attendance on his grumpy, and very sick, wife. Planning parties was amusing - when it wasn’t for Orlesians, anyway (too many manners and not enough cheese) - and listening to Elissa vomit was not. But he didn‘t want to leave her alone, either.

It was at least partially his fault, when it came right down to it, whatever that sneaky child witch had fiddled with. He repeated his earlier question, when the retching stopped momentarily.

“No!” she called from their bathing chamber. “Tell them I’m indisposed, or whatever shitty euphemism you like.” She sounded miserable, and Alistair half stood, intending to make his way into the chamber to help her.

“Do you need my assistance, my love?”

“Maker’s Breath, no. I can throw up all by myself. Just go answer the fucking door.”

Alistair hesitated before obeying, but his wife‘s warning growl convinced him. “If you‘re sure, then,” he set down his book, crossed the room and opened the door, a graceful apology and excuse already prepared on his lips. “I’m sorry, but it‘s not a good time for visitors…” the words on his tongue disappeared, forgotten in his shock. “Cailan?” He whispered, and shut the door behind him as he stepped into the hall. “Grim. I mean… what are you doing here, Grim?” Perhaps if he said the name enough it would become second nature.

Grim grunted, and then held out a small lumpy package, looking awkward in turn. Alistair wondered momentarily whether or not he looked quite that foolish when he didn’t know what he was doing.

He thought it rather likely. Probably more so. Cailan (Grim, he corrected mentally) had always had more poise.

“A present? For me?” Alistair smiled. Grim frowned and shook his head. “For Elissa?” Grim shook his head, and, his mouth twitching, made a slow rounded motion over his stomach. “Oh, for… for the baby…” Alistair blinked the influx of tears away. Kings shouldn’t cry. “Thank you.”

Grim pulled out a piece of brown wrapping paper from inside his jerkin and a piece of charcoal from the pouch at his waist, and in a far too elegant script for the tools he was using, began to write, the paper up against the stone wall of the hallway:

“I’m heading into Tevinter, with Magister Pavus. Don’t know when I’ll be back, and it’s better for everyone if I make myself disappear again. Where better than the Imperium?”

Alistair’s mouth dropped open, and he protested, “You don’t have to do this… Grim.”

Grim shook his head, and wrote, “ _I really do. I’m… happy for you, Alistair.”_

Alistair’s eyes grew watery, yet again. “What’s in the package, then?”

Grim actually smiled, and for a minute, Alistair saw the man he used to be, shining through bright and clear, the reflection of the King at Ostagar, bold and naïve, “ _Open it.”_

Alistair fumbled with the wrappings, and pulled out the tin figure of a knight with a crown and a red steel sword, painted meticulously to resemble… “King Maric?” he laughed. “Oh, you’re more of a bastard than I am, aren’t you? Had to rub it in, just once?”

Grim shook his head, his eyes worried, and his handwriting sloppy in his speed, _“No. This was mine. The only thing I went back to my tent in Ostagar for. My mother gave it to me, when I was small. I won’t have children of my own. But I want yours to have it.”_ The piece of charcoal shook over the paper before he wrote on, _“Children need heroes to believe in. I had my father. And somehow, I think that they won’t think of you as anything but their Da, whatever the truth of the matter might be.”_

“Well, there’s always Elissa,” Alistair reminded him. “I mean, it’s right there in her title, you know? The Hero Queen of Ferelden…”

_“She’ll be their mother first. She’s just that sort, isn’t she? My mother was, from what little I remember.”_ Grim paused again, and then wrote, _“Is she well? Can I send you anything? Bull has contacts in the palace, we could correspond…”_ he stopped abruptly and crossed out the incomplete last sentence. _“But it’s not a good idea. I just remember how hard it was to be on my own, before Anora came to live in Denerim.”_

Alistair swallowed, and then clapped the man on the shoulder, only hesitating for a moment. “Neither of us is alone now. Even if we don’t dare admit the truth aloud.” He sniffed and blinked his stinging eyes. “Elissa’s pretty sick. I hope that changes. I’ll tell her you asked about her.” He cleared his throat. “You could write. Just to let us know you’re alive and still hanging out with Magisters… it’s not as if anyone knows you by ‘Grim’ in Denerim. We‘ll make up a story.”

There was a spark in Grim’s eye as he nodded, somehow happier. _“I would like that. Burn this, will you? I’ll be seeing you - if I‘m not lit on fire or turned into a frog or sacrificed for the blood in my veins. What fun, eh? Never a dull moment, when you‘re traveling with Magister Pavus. At least the food is good in Minrathous.”_

Alistair nodded, “The food in Tevinter is amazing, I agree. Say ’Hello’ to Maevaris for me. And… thank you for the present,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “Uncle Grim.”

The other man stared at him, pulled his mouth into a watery, weak version of his former smile, lips closed as always to hide the absence of tongue, grabbed his arm and pulled him in for an abrupt hug, and then let go, shoving him away, and staggering down the stairs, straightening just before he reached the bottom, and tugging to straighten his plain brown jerkin - just as if he was finishing up an errand for his Chief. Alistair watched him go, and then shook himself, reopening the door to reveal a very pale Elissa, laying on the bed with a cloth over her eyes.

“Who was it, Cheesy?”

“My brother,” Alistair had to clear his throat after the word, “He brought a present.”

“For you?” Elissa sounded surprised under the damp cloth. “That’s… friendly, isn‘t it?”

“In a manner of speaking perhaps,” Alistair choked out. He placed the knight upright on the low table next to the bed, and climbed in next to his wife, shifting himself closer. “But it wasn’t for me. It was for his niece or nephew.”

“Oh,” Elissa’s voice was very small. “Are you all right?”

“Not really,” Alistair said into her neck. “But… we’re going to write. It’s a terrible idea, I know… someone will find out… we‘ll have to think of a cover story. You know the scribes all read my mail and discuss it amongst themselves afterward. For some of them it’s in their job description.”

Elissa turned, and pulled his head into her chest. “We’ll make it work, Cheesy. You need this.”

Alistair spread his fingers over her stomach, his eyes wet. “If it’s a boy, I want to name him after him.”

Elissa groaned. “No.”

His face was stubborn. “Milady Dragon, I’m not giving in. Perhaps your father’s name in the middle?”

Elissa snorted, “You do realize, don’t you, that most royal children have something like seven names? Fergus and I escaped that fate only by the grace that Mother was raised largely at sea and didn‘t want to overly complicate our lives.”

Alistair choked, “Seven names? Whatever for?”

“To put on airs?” She laughed. “Maybe - just maybe - Cailan can be one of them. And I’ll consider my father’s. But I think we should think about Zevran somewhere in there, and I’ve always liked the name Brandel if we have to use your ancestors as inspiration…” Her face lit up and she tugged on his hair. “Oh! We could name him…”

“Nope, that’s it, we’re having a girl,” Alistair unilaterally decided and flipped over onto his side to look up at her chin, dislodging her grip on his hair before it was beyond repair. “Too complicated, naming boys. We‘ll offend someone, naming him after a former Crow and current assassin, and have to deal with the political repercussions for ages. No one will think twice if we choose to name her after the Divine, after all. We‘ll just look holy and dignified.”

“I can tell you one thing,” Elissa’s voice turned threatening, “We’re not naming him after Eamon.”

Alistair nodded against his place on her chest. “We agree on that, at least. Or any of the Guerrins.” He reached up and cupped one of her breasts tentatively. “Elissa, don‘t hit me for asking, but… are these getting larger?”

“Took you long enough to notice,” she laughed and kissed his forehead. “It’s probably why they hurt so fucking much.” She bent down and whispered into his ear, “Consider it a perk if you like.”

“Very perky indeed,” Alistair teased, and her groan turned to yet another laugh. “You set yourself up for that one.”

“My pleasure, I suppose,” her voice was wry. “Not that I have any choice in the matter.”

 


	87. Hard Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! If you missed the chapter I posted on Saturday, go back one. I don't normally post on weekends, but made an exception. I can't believe how much I miss not being able to share. I've come a long way since my months of debating whether to post Asta's adventures.
> 
> Thanks all of you for reading. You have no idea how much joy it still brings me, even a year and a half later.

Lace Harding rode into town at the head of a raggedy group of scouts and mages, on the back of a hardened shaggy pony, her face matching the gloomy weather. She reined in her mount and dismounted, looking up at the spacious home in impressed surprise. “Hullo the house!” She yelled, and knocked against the front door.

Nobody answered, and she patted a few stray strands of hair back into her braid as she looked around at her companions. “It’s not a holiday, is it?”

Cullen wandered around the corner with a hammer in one hand, and a handful of bent nails in the other. He raised his eyes, and smiled. “Lace! You’re here. That’s wonderful. Do you think you could send somebody down to the village to pick up a box of nails…”

“No,” Lace folded her arms. “We’re not here to fetch and carry.” Her smile grew wider and the grumpiness that had been in her expression fell away. “You look good, Cullen. Healthier.”

“I feel better,” Cullen admitted, with a wary glance at her company. “Things have been improved… lately.”

“Good, now, where are we sleeping, and why the hell isn’t anyone here?”

He cleared his throat, “They’re all at the Keep, celebrating the announcement of the Queen’s pregnancy.”

Lace raised an eyebrow, “Wow. Sounds important.”

“You said it,” Cullen shifted, waiting for the next question.

“And why aren’t you…”

Cullen grinned guiltily, “I sent my wife and daughter in my stead. They’ll have a lovely time, and I won’t have to stand around looking bored. I have a million things to do here, and…”

“It’s the King’s heir!” Lace reached out and removed the hammer and nails from his hands and tossed them onto the ever-present pile of shingles by the front door. “You can’t snub the King of Ferelden, Cullen. I spent my youth herding sheep, and even I know that.”

“Asta said I could stay home,” he pouted. “She knew I’d be miserable.”

“Wait, the Inquisitor gave you permission to skip a party?” Lace blinked. “Are you sure that’s what she meant?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “She said that she wished I would come, but that she didn’t want me to be unhappy…”

“Maker’s Breath,” Lace cursed. “Are you fighting or something? Get changed.” She glanced at his clothes, a plaideweave tunic and leather workpants, wincing. “No, there’s no time. Better to show up like that and insult the King than risk sleeping on the couch.”

Cullen slumped, “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“You’ve still got a lot to learn about women,” Lace cleared her throat. “What do you say, guys, care to crash a party?” A few of her followers shrugged weakly, but one in the back cheered. “That’s the spirit.”

The noise of the celebration drifted through the Keep’s thick walls as they approached, Josie having hired accompaniment for Maryden’s usual skills. The sweet smell of baking permeated the air, and Lace’s smile grew- nearly splitting her freckled face in half. “Damn, that smells fabulous…” She patted her hair back again. “I’m starving.”

Cullen’s chagrin lessened when Asta’s beaming face spotted him across the room. He apologized. “Sorry I’m so late,” he began to make excuses to the guests of honor, who looked slightly nauseous and cautiously excited in turn. “I had an… unavoidable delay.” Asta glided over to him, elegant as she rarely was lately. “Sorry,” he muttered, and kissed her cheek. “I messed up. Lace set me straight.”

“I’m just glad you came,” Asta whispered, her smile brilliant.

“I thought you weren’t coming at all. I was rather hurt. That‘s no way to treat a friend,” Alistair pouted as Cullen rolled his eyes. The King waved his hand towards the buffet table. “No matter. Let’s get you some wine, some cakes…” he eyed Cullen’s tunic, “or fashion trends.”

“Your Majesty,” Josie bowed regally, interrupting the King’s attempt to escape the receiving line, “I would like to introduce Lady Lace Harding, the Inquisition’s Head Scout.”

“I’ve heard about you,” Alistair narrowed his eyes. “You grew up outside Redcliffe, if my reports are correct. You have built quite the reputation for yourself.” He frowned, “Why do you look familiar?”

Elissa leaned over. “Dwyn’s her father, Alistair. You remember Dwyn - he helped us at Redcliffe with Connor‘s situation…”

“Dwyn?” Alistair stared at her. “That grumpy dwarf merc we had to bribe to do the right thing?”

“That wasn’t a bribe, it was fair payment for services rendered,” Elissa corrected with a frown. “You’re insulting her, Cheesy. Apologize.”

“My father is not grumpy,” Lace challenged directly. “He’s practical. You two didn’t know what you were asking, during the Blight. I was twelve and my mother’s a seamstress - she wouldn’t have been able to support us without Da‘s mercenary work. He gave you a bargain because it was a good cause.”

Alistair’s cheeks flushed angrily, “Oh really? Do you realize that my wife went without eating that night, because your hero of a father wouldn‘t accept less than…”

“Shush,” Elissa tugged him away. “Alistair, it was more than a decade ago, and I wasn‘t your wife then. And we didn’t have time to eat even if we had the funds, for that matter, given the undead attacking at sunset. Let it go.” They exchanged charged glances, but Alistair finally nodded.

“All right, Milady Dragon. You win. Again,” he sighed, and adjusted his crown self-consciously. “It’s lovely to have you here, Lady Harding, and I’m sure that your father is a good, honest killer for hire who was more than justified in charging extreme amounts in a time of crisis, and never buys stolen goods off of shady merchants.”

“Now see here, Your Majesty,” Lace sputtered, “My father didn’t know that sword was stolen…”

“Of course he didn’t,” Elissa interrupted, and tugged Alistair away glancing urgently at Asta to intervene. “Lady Harding, let’s talk later, shall we? Alistair, I believe Arl Bryland has a delightful cheese plate, right over here…” She turned her husband away sharply before he could argue further.

“Lace, let’s find you something to drink,” Asta started, just as Josie wrapped her arm through the dwarf’s and pulled her in the other direction.

“Yeah, yeah, I could use one,” the woman grumbled, staring at the King’s back. “Spend most of the winter up in the Frostbacks, herd a ton of mages back down the mountain, up to my chin in blowing snow, only to be dragged to a party…”

“You’re the one who…” Cullen began to protest.

“Only to be dragged to a party in celebration of an asshole who decided to procreate,” Harding finished. “Yeah, a drink would be wonderful, Inquisitor. Lead the way, Josie.”

Cullen followed Alistair, who, once safely in front of the cheese tray and provided with a plate half-filled with tidbits announced loudly, his mouth half-full, “I like her. Let’s give her a title, Elissa, and maybe a bannorn.”

“Can’t,” Elissa put an additional four selections on his plate. “We have to remain neutral to the Inquisition, Cheesy. No favoritism allowed, or they‘ll be seen as corrupt.”

“But she’s refreshing! She could be a dwarf Bann…” he wheedled. “We don’t have enough Banns who tell me where to get off. The Free Marches has tons of Deshyrs - why can‘t we start a trend? The Viscount of Kirkwall‘s a dwarf, isn‘t he?”

“Pick a different dwarf, then,” Elissa countered, and nibbled on a piece of dry toast. “That one’s taken.”

“The Inquisition got all the good people first,” grumbled Alistair. “I’m not giving up, my love. I want her at court.”

Elissa and Cullen exchanged a glance, and Cullen shook his head. “I’ll see what I can do,” Elissa sighed. “There’s always Sigrun, you know.”

“Wardens are off limits, you said before. Or I would have made Oghren the royal ale-taster long ago.”

***

A half hour later, a more cheerful, if definitely drunker, version of Harding released to the party, Asta found Cullen leaning up against a handy wall, scowling, and handed him a glass of wine. “So Lace had to drag you here?”

“She said if I snubbed the King I’d be sleeping on the couch.”

“A fate worse than death,” Asta’s mouth twitched, and she bit her lip with amusement. “I would never do such a thing. You didn’t have to come, but His Majesty was very disappointed in your initial absence. The other guests are largely women, and I believe he was hoping for someone manly to have manly conversations with. I know how you hate this sort of thing.”

“Where’s Pippa?” Cullen’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Dancing,” Asta indicated their daughter, short among the other people in the reel, but doing a creditable job all the same. “You should ask her for one.”

“I’d rather dance with you,” Cullen admitted. “Pippa can handle herself.”

Asta smiled, “It is a reel. You claimed those were your favorite at our wedding.”

Cullen’s mouth turned up on one side, ever so slightly. “Unlike most dances, they’re actually fun.” Asta’s snort was the opposite of elegant. “Have you ever danced anything so common as a Fereldan reel, Inquisitor? Or have your lessons merely limited you to Tevinter balls and Orlesian peace talks?”

“I’m sure I could follow your lead,” Asta giggled.

“I claim the next then,” Cullen smiled fully, and then his face fell as he spied his father in law amidst the maelstrom, partnered with Pippa. “Have you spoken to Pippa about your father?”

“He hasn’t asked, Cullen,” Asta chided gently. “I don’t want to mention it if he’s not going to, either. Getting Pippa’s hopes up, only to have her have to stay with us… and I refuse to ask him. I don‘t want to put the fucking idea back in his head.” She ended on a harsher note.

Cullen squinted in disbelief, “Why would she want to leave? She’ll stay.” His voice was fairly confident.

“I’m not so sure,” Asta said slowly. “He can offer a great deal. She’ll have a more normal childhood there than we could ever offer at Skyhold. Certainly one with more stability. And we’re going to have to go back. The scouts we sent to take stock of things at Skyhold should be reporting any day, and Josie’s already received the first promise of funds.”

“But if we stayed here…”

“I can’t spend all my time in South Reach,” Asta frowned. “If I could be in two places at once… it’s a shame the eluvians are closed to me.”

Cullen huffed, “If I never see another eluvian again, it will be too soon.”

“That is true as well,” Asta leaned up against him, and he wrapped his arm around her. “There has to be a balance somewhere. Between home and work and travel.”

“You’ll find it,” he murmured, and kissed her forehead. “You always do.”

“I haven’t had much luck yet,” she laughed, but sidled closer. “But I try.”

***

The horses walked up the winding path slowly, making their way to the crest of the hill just outside of South Reach. It was a short version of a ride that had become more common in recent days. For the first time, Pippa and her grandfather had been allowed to ride out without an escort - mostly because Ian was teething, Rylen was going through the first stage of lyrium withdrawals, and Asta and Cullen were both liable to fall off a horse if they tried to ride.

Naturally, Lord Trevelyan made it awkward, reining in his horse to ask a particular question.

Pippa frowned at her grandfather, “Mum doesn’t know you’re asking this, does she?”

“I wanted to find out if you were willing, first,” Oscar bit his lip. “I don’t want your parents to pressure you to stay, or go. But I’m beginning to rebuild - something more modest, and in a different location - the old foundation will serve as the base for a memorial of those that died. The Trevelyans don‘t-” he stopped, “I don’t need as much room any longer.”

“You’re going to be lonely,” Pippa’s eyes were distant. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He cleared his throat, “You won’t, then?”

“I’ll visit,” she temporized. “I’m pretty sure your family won’t like a mage, half-elf bastard as your heir.”

“I’m not important enough for anyone to stop me. For all my youngest daughter‘s reach, we‘re just a second rate noble family from Ostwick,” he smiled slightly. “You’re better than all of us put together, Pippa.”

Pippa clucked at her mount to get him started again. “I don’t know what I want. I like you, Grandfather. I think Mum’s being harsh, but I understand why she doesn’t want to trust you. You hurt her, and you don‘t understand how much.” She looked up from her horse, eyes clear. “She’s never going to trust you again, I think.”

“No more than I deserve. I destroyed her faith in me when she was four. I should have been stronger.”

“I’m glad I never met my grandmother.” Pippa stared at him in challenge. “Is that wrong?”

“No. I’m glad you never met her either. She would not have been kind to you.”

“I’m not sure I want to inherit Trevelyan anything.”

“There’s time for you to decide.” Lord Trevelyan cleared his throat, “My invitation stands. It is always open, and if anything happens to your Da or Mum, I’ll be there, for you and Ian.”

“I think Mum plans for us to go to Da’s family. She wants us raised in Ferelden. Aunt Mia would move here, or maybe Uncle Krem and Aunt Rosalie if they decide to settle down?” Pippa’s forehead creased in worry, and asked, “If I agreed, would I have to change my name? I like being a Rutherford.”

“We could always slip Trevelyan into the middle or hyphenate,” her grandfather smiled and his eyes sparked with humor. “You seem to have escaped most of the bad naming practices of the family. Philippa Maxine is almost civilized, for a Trevelyan. Philippa Maxine Trevelyan-Rutherford - and then adding on your married name - should you take one - puts you over the edge into absurdity. A Trevelyan through and through, with a name like that. You should hear what some of your cousins have to deal with on a daily basis. Your mother got off easy.”

Pippa pulled a face. “It sounds dreadful. But it’s a connection to my mother, I guess. I don’t have much.” She shrugged finally, “I’ll think about it. I don’t have to decide right away, right?”

“Of course not. Not for a few years. I just wanted to make the proposal.” He nudged his horse into a walk and they began their ascent again. “I wanted to adopt you, give you your mother’s place, but you have a perfectly good family already.”

Pippa glanced back at him. “Yes. I do.” She smiled suddenly and then leaned forward. “Race you to the top,” and her horse took off.

Her grandfather laughed, and followed. “After you, my dear.”

 


	88. Panic

“Letter for you, Inquisitor,“ the maid curtseyed. It was early, and the ground was the equivalent of frozen mud, choppy and harsh beneath Asta’s boots as she approached the fence after her morning training session with Fact. Her father watched from a distance, with a book in his hand, as if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

“Thank you,“ Asta took the letter and pressed it against her chest with her arm while she removed her leather glove with her teeth. She unwrapped it slowly, and then cursed. “Shit. Cullen!“ The maid backed away slowly, but Asta was ignorant of her fear. “Cullen!” She yelled louder. “Where are you?”

He didn’t answer - but her father did, making his way around the fenced off training ground to intercept her. “Asta, my dear, what’s wrong?”

“I need Cullen,” she told him, her hand shaking. She backed away from the targets and scanned the area - even the roofs, just in case he was doing some early morning shingling. “Do you know where he is?”

“He went into town to see his sister, right after he ate,” Lord Trevelyan replied, his forehead creased. “He’s not supposed to be back until afternoon. Is there something I can do?”

“No,” Asta told him. “I need my husband.” After a moment she rested her prosthesis on his arm. “Wait. Maybe there is.” She turned to the maid, “Find Josie and Rylen, and Scout Harding, and tell them to meet me in my study. Please.” She faced her father, staring at him as if daring him to disobey her orders, “And then get Pippa and Ian out of bed, and stay with them in the library. Tell Petri and Minaeve it‘s under my orders. I’ll send someone to guard you in a moment. Just stay with the children. Will you do that?”

“Of course, my dear.” She had already taken off for the house. “What’s happened?” Lord Trevelyan asked the maid.

“I don’t know, my Lord,” the girl whispered, “I don’t read, myself. The bird only just arrived.”

The Lord nodded, and stalked towards the kitchen entrance. “I’ll fetch the children then. Maker be with her.”

In less than five minutes, the War Council - minus Cullen - had assembled in Asta’s study. Asta tossed the letter down on the table. “I’ve heard back from the scouts we sent to Skyhold.”

“What’s happened?” Harding picked up the letter, and paled, her freckles vivid blotches. “He didn’t.”

“He did,” Asta’s nostrils flared. “That egg headed bastard decided we were no longer occupying Skyhold as the Inquisition and moved in. On one hand, we know exactly where he is and what his defenses are-”

“That’s refreshing,” Rylen’s voice was hoarse.

“On the other, there is no way we could fight to take Skyhold back,” Asta ‘s fist clenched, her knuckles white. “What do we do?” Her advisors stayed silent, not taking their focus off her. “That’s what I thought. We’re not just going to find another castle laying around, after all. We have to let Skyhold go.”

“We could infiltrate,” Harding whispered. “If we could get someone inside, someone that he didn’t know…”

“Who?” Asta pounced on the idea. “Have we had any additional elven recruits since the Conclave?”

“A few,” Rylen confirmed, shivering. Josie watched him with a frown. “I’ll make a list, if you like. Most of them are city, not Dalish…”

“Shouldn’t matter,” Harding sighed. “The hard part is getting someone in. We haven’t succeeded, not since Loranil. Fen’Harel’s too scary. The people who‘ve tried…” she shook her head, “At least they were volunteers.”

Asta closed her eyes. “So we have to just… wait?”

“We could send an emissary,” Josie offered. “He knows we can’t take the Keep, but we could approach him under a flag of truce. It worked before.”

“Are there no other options?”

“Not that I can see, Inquisitor,” admitted Rylen. “You’re better off asking questions and preparing for attack. If it were me…” he glanced at Josie, and plowed on. “If it were me I’d be getting my family out of his way. His army is less than ours, but ours is across the Waking Sea. It’ll take time, and a place to put them that doesn’t offend every single monarch in Southern Thedas.”

“Pippa is never out of his way,” Asta clenched her jaw. “Every time she sleeps…”

“Then she better be prepared to fight back, if she needs to,” Rylen pressed. “But that’s not my job.”

***

Cullen scowled at the six guards at the entrance to Argyll, and increased his pace. He had only been gone for a few hours, and his wife was posting guards. “Where’s the Inquisitor?” He asked the first person he saw inside, a maid with a pile of scrolls for the ravens. “I’ve obviously missed something.”

“Study, Ser, but she told me to tell you to head to the library when you arrived. You are to guard the children with Archivist Cerastes and Lord Trevelyan.” The maid curtseyed and ran off with her messages. “I’m sorry, Ser, but I was told these were urgent, and Baron Plucky won’t let me touch him without a bribe. I‘m to the kitchen.”

Cullen ignored his orders, in order to march through the house to the study. “Asta, what by Andraste’s Pyre is going on? I was only gone for three hours!”

Asta squinted at him, over the parchment, “Four. And Solas has taken Skyhold. The scouts are alive, but have been warned not to return. I need you to guard the children.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, “By ‘taken‘, do you mean he just moved in?”

“We did abandon it,” Lace was scribbling madly. “You might say he started the Inquisition‘s habit of, ‘well, nobody’s using this castle, so we might as well.’” She looked up, “But then again, are we sure he didn’t start the fire? To knock us loose so he could take over? Hmm.” She shook her head. “Not his style though.”

Cullen sighed, “Asta, have the kids been locked in the library all morning?”

She frowned at him. “They’re not prisoners. And you weren’t here to ask what I should do. I’m doing my best, damn it. Argyll was designed to be defensible, but I don‘t know what you intended with the layout.” Her face lit up, “Maybe we should add a moat! I‘ve always wanted a moat!”

Cullen rubbed his neck, and opened the study door. He asked the guard outside, “Please go bring Lord Trevelyan and my son and daughter here.”

“At once, Ser,” the guard moved away, and Cullen closed the door again to face his wife.

“I’m overreacting, aren‘t I?” Asta’s shoulders slumped.

“A bit,” Cullen sounded amused, but his face told a different story. “As you dragged Rylen and Lace right with you, I’ll excuse it. By all means, send your letters, love. You need to do that. Make sure Pippa and Pup have protection, but you can’t keep them locked up forever. Skyhold is days away, unless there‘s an eluvian nearby we don‘t know about.”

“That’s rather likely,“ Asta sighed. “Right.” She glanced up at Josie, “I’m sorry Josie. Will you finish drafting this? I need to try to calm down.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Josie picked it up. “I’ll be in my room, doing just that.”

“I’ll get the rest of these sent off,” Harding kept scribbling.

Asta, still bowed over, as if there was a weight on her shoulders, made her way out of the room, to be confronted by her father and kids. Ian stretched out his arms, “Ma,” and Asta took him from her father silently.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?” Lord Trevelyan asked quietly.

“I‘m not sure how to explain,” Asta said very slowly.

“You didn’t even tell him what was going on?” Cullen’s mouth twitched. Asta scowled at him. “Sorry love. There wasn’t time, I’m sure.”

“It’s a very complicated situation,” Asta protested. “How would you explain to your pious father that the Elvhen Evanuris not only exist, but that one of your closest companions was the Dread Wolf? Much less that he’s going to pull down the Veil, and that he stole your castle out from under you, just when you were about to move back in?”

Her father blinked. “The Dread Wolf? Really?”

“Where is he, Mum?” Pippa’s voice was small.

“At Skyhold,” Asta pushed Pippa’s sleep-wild curls back from her face. Ian laid his head against her shoulder. “I… panicked, I’m afraid. I was scared.”

“Why?” Pippa asked, confused.

“I’m worried he’ll take you away from us.”

“Mum, he can’t take me unless I let him,” Pippa explained, rather condescendingly. “I have to give consent. Hope protects me, otherwise.”

Asta frowned, “Baby, how does that work, exactly?”

Pippa grinned, “There are better questions you could be asking, Mum. Do you really want to know? Hope‘s willing to talk.”

“Not really,” Cullen cleared his throat after answering for his wife. “Though that would explain a few other things as well.” His wife’s eyes were lighting up. “Ask them later, love,” he murmured.

“Right, timing,” Asta smiled, questions running in endless lists behind her eyes, “Josie is writing a letter requesting an audience. If he accepts, perhaps…”

Pippa frowned, “Mum…”

“It’ll wait,” Asta patted her arm. “Come on. Until we get a reply, we can’t exactly stand down, but we can try to be a bit more normal.” She started to walk away, but stopped herself. Glancing back, she braced herself, and said, “Thank you… Father, for your help with the kids.”

Cullen nodded at his father in law, and Oscar smiled. “It was my pleasure, Asta.” The name seemed to come easy. “Let me know if I can assist further.”

Asta settled her son down for a nap that afternoon, relaxing into the chair she was still using to feed him, given his reluctance to wean, with a book, but her eyes were far away. Cullen watched her from where he leaned up against the doorway and asked, very softly, “Love, what are you thinking?”

Asta closed the book. “Shh.” Ian flipped himself over, his mouth working in a sucking motion. Asta smiled at him, and rose. “I suppose he’ll be okay, right?” She left, Cullen making room and closing the door behind him softly. “Cullen,” she leaned up against him, and kissed him.

Surprised, it took him a moment to respond, but then he sank into the kiss, forgetting what he was going to ask as she seduced him gently back into their room, tugging his clothes away and pulling him down on top of her.

It was all so gentle, Cullen lost himself in her touches and in the sound of her panting against his ear. She drove him further into herself, clutching at his hips with both her warm fingers and her more chilly hand, but he didn’t mind. He followed her lead, and followed her - all too quickly - when she shook around and against him, and breathed his name like a benediction.

Some time later, he tried again, wrapped around her like a blanket, “Not that I’m complaining - but are you trying to distract me? I had a number of questions I needed to ask you, and a lecture to deliver on jumping to conclusions and scaring the whole household out of their minds, and now I‘m having trouble remembering a single thing.” He kissed her shoulder, and then her neck, and then finished, “Other than how absolutely breathtaking you are naked, anyway. And how I love the taste of the lotion you‘re using lately. Does it have sugar in it?”

Asta rolled over on top of him, giggling. “No. Truly. I just… when I couldn’t find you this morning, after I got the note, I… I had a moment where I thought you were gone. That was half my panic. I was so frightened, I felt so alone. I… for a few minutes I was convinced you weren’t coming back - that he had taken you. It was silly, I know, Father said you had gone to see Mia.” She buried her face in his chest. “This was about me reassuring myself you‘re real, and…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cullen promised, stroking her back gently and raising up to kiss her forehead. “But I’ll teach you how to lock down Argyll. I should have before.”

“I know you wouldn’t go willingly,” Asta whispered, brow furrowed as she peeked back up and traced his jaw line. “But if something happens - something unexpected - to either one of us…”

“Don’t talk like that,” he scolded gently. “Rylen and I will take steps to make sure we‘re prepared for anything, but strictly speaking, we don‘t have a war to fight, love.”

“For now, anyway.” Asta laid her ear back down on his chest. “I would say that depends on Solas, wouldn‘t you?”

Cullen tightened his arms behind her back and didn’t reply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't quite believe it, but I'm going to be finishing this story up in the next couple of weeks. I know it doesn't feel like it yet, but I've only got 16 typewritten pages after this chapter posts, and about five of those are an epilogue.
> 
> I can't say how much I've appreciated those readers who leapt with me into the realm of the unknown and read my sequel to Inquisition. And my million spin-offs, and prequels, and... everything.
> 
> I'm currently writing something from a different world state entirely, and have plans for at least one more spin-off (maybe two - I want to write a short story about Rhys and Evangeline) as well as finishing up 'Lights in the Shadow', which has been neglected for months.
> 
> As for this being the end to Asta's story - I somehow doubt it, and believe it, at the same time. I know she'll show up in other things, but I don't yet know to what degree.
> 
> I'm hoping that I haven't gone so far off the canon that I can't take her into the next game as my Inquisitor.


	89. Spiritual Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters to post. This one is short, because it breaks best here.
> 
> It was painful to post a chapter this morning.

Asta found the letter several days later, unopened, and sitting in the middle of her desk. She broke the seal, and then closed her eyes again, biting her lips. She went over and fed it into the flames of the small fireplace, and looked out the window.

Outside, the churned mud was tentatively turning back into dirt - the freezing rains of the last few days having given way to tentative sunshine - just enough to melt the ice and make a horrid mess.

Rylen walked into view, and she watched him stumble, and Cullen, just a few steps behind, catch him, and ease him down onto a stack of shingles. Rylen closed his eyes and breathed, his lips moving in a pattern that Asta recognized from her husband’s restless nights - a portion of the Chant, she suspected, but she couldn’t make out the words. She tensed, wondering if she should go help, but Rylen’s body eased in a moment, and nodding at something Cullen said, he allowed himself to be helped up, and they continued their walk to the stables.

He was fine. They would all be fine.

“Mum?” A quiet voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to find Pippa. “Hope says you need me. Now.”

Asta took a deep breath, “Pippa - what does Hope know about Fen’Harel?”

“Part of Mythal held the spirit of an old god, but you know that,” Pippa began quietly. “Fen’Harel took that spirit, the spirit of Urthemiel, when she gave it up. It was a nice rest for her. It had been a while since she had been allowed to let go entirely - hundreds of years. What was left of her answered me when I called because she wanted to, not because she had to. It was something different, something she hadn‘t done in a very long time.” Pippa settled herself into the chair in front of Asta’s desk. “For Mythal, everything is about consent, because when she was Flemeth, so little choice was given to her. She’s more of a choice spirit, really,” Pippa grinned wide.

“Ugh,” Asta shuddered, “Imshael said that. His options were deplorable.”

“She knows that, too,” Pippa admitted with a wider grin. “But in a way, maybe all spirits are choice spirits.” Her face grew solemn again, “Mum, Fen’Harel lost Wisdom - way back in the Dirth, do you remember?”

“Yes…” Asta’s eyebrows creased and she crossed to stand behind her desk. “Are you saying -”

“He had friends,” Pippa explained gently, “like me. Like Mythal.” She took a deep breath, “And like you, though since you’re not a mage you don’t communicate like I do. You have Command, been touched by Compassion, and… Wisdom found you in the Fade. It wasn‘t Divine Justinia who was behind you, when you were running. She was already dead, killed in the blast when you picked up the orb.” Asta looked skeptical, “I’m only telling it like it is, Mum. Don’t judge.” Pippa sniffed, and rubbed her nose. “Anyway, back to the Evanuris. Mythal had Hope and Justice and most recently, Beauty. Fen’Harel lost Wisdom. It left him - empty. Lonely.” The girl kicked her legs against the chair, shifting herself back a bit. “He took Beauty to try to fill the gap in power that Wisdom left behind. It changed him. Spirits change the people they touch. He’s not just Solas any more. He was Pride and Wisdom, in equal measure before... But then he lost Wisdom. You understand, right?”

“Leaving him only Pride and Beauty,” Asta shivered. “Oh, Pippa. That doesn‘t sound like a good combination for a man obsessed with restoring his people. Beauty at any cost can hurt.”

“He wants Dreamers, to help him get Wisdom back. Bad things will happen, if he doesn‘t have Wisdom to balance Pride, to keep Beauty from getting too shallow. It‘s all about balance, Mum. Maybe I should have tried to explain before,” Pippa stared down. “He admired your Wisdom, didn’t he? Long ago? He asked you if you thought you had changed since the Conclave.”

“How did you know…”

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Pippa’s face crumpled, “I talked to the Wolf a few more times. I agreed to help, so that he’d leave you alone. We need you more than he does - Da and I and Ian. I‘ve been helping him search.” Pippa turned and stared at the fire. A log popped and flared, as if in answer to her gaze. “He sent you a letter. Are you going to go? You shouldn‘t go.”

“I am,” Asta choked. “I don’t want to, but I have to. I can‘t let him crack open the Veil without knowing what will happen next. And I certainly can‘t let him use you.”

Pippa sighed. “Da is going to be really pissed off, you know.”

Asta nodded. “I’ll leave him a letter.”

Pippa snorted, “Oh, like that’s going to help.”

“You think it would be any better if I did it in person?” Pippa was silent. “I didn‘t think so.”

　

_My love,_ Asta’s hand shook over the parchment, as it rarely did when transferring her thoughts to paper.

_I was supposed to die back at the Conclave, at Redcliffe, at Adamant, and a million other countless times between then and now. That I’ve lived long enough to love you, and marry you, and share two beautiful_ _children with you… that’s all been on borrowed time. I’ve known that, all along. Every little separation feels like it’s practice for this. I don’t want to do this, but I don’t think I have a choice. Not really._

_I’m going to meet Solas. He asked for me to meet him in the forest. Alone. And I’m going to go. I have to, for Pippa’s sake, for the sake of the world. If I am selfish now, we will lose both._

_I promised you, before we fought Corypheus, that I would come back. This time, I can’t. There’s nothing someone like me can do to stop Fen’Harel. Corypheus was merely the priest of a long defunct cult. I can’t stop the Maker, Cullen. But I… I have no regrets except for leaving the three of you. I wish there was another way._

_Live for our children. Love them. Love them both. Don’t blame Pippa for this. It’s not her fault. Don’t let her go with Father, either, for anything other than a visit. She belongs here, not in Ostwick._

_If you can find a woman who is worthy of you - really worthy, not just anyone, mind you - marry again._

_Death won’t even dent what I feel for you. I will love you until the end of the Veil, and until the Fade itself dissolves into nothing._

_Yours through all the ages yet to come,_

_Asta_

　

“Mum,” Pippa was furious, lightening arcing against the tips of her hair, making it stand on end in the most absurd way. “Determination says you’re not going to die unless you make it happen with willpower alone. We don‘t need a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“I have to tell him. It‘s a possibility, Baby.”

“I know, “ Pippa’s hair didn’t relax. “But I fucking swear that if Fen’Harel takes you from me and Ian and Da he will regret every moment of his crazy long life.” She paused, “Unless you’re right about the curse not ending until his life ends. Because if that’s the sort of fucked up shit that he’s got going on, then I will end him, as soon as I can manage to figure out how to kill an Elvhen. I bet Hope will help. I know Determination will.”

“Language, Pippa,” Asta scolded. “And you’re staying here.”

“Dream on,” the girl spat out, laughing slightly at her own pun. “If Fen'Harel is involved, you’re meeting him at the edge of the fucking Fade where the Veil is so thin you can feel it. Fen’Harel is a trickster - do you honestly think he’s not going to tip the odds in his favor anyway he can manage? You’re not going anywhere without a Dreamer to fight on the other side for you - just in case its necessary. I’m the best you got.”

“You’re the best we have,” Asta corrected.

Pippa shrugged and grinned. “Got you to say it, Mum.”

“I never doubted it. But you’re staying here,” she countered, unamused.

Pippa grabbed her hand. “I don’t have to leave home to be where you are. And you can’t stop me. But remember: blessed are the peacemakers,” the child ordered her. “Mum, remember what you are. I love you. Don‘t let the Maker write his will in your blood. He‘s done quite enough of that already. Let him shed his own damn blood if he wants to make a difference this time.”

“I love you, too.” And then Asta slipped away, to do what must be done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to send a shout out to MaryDragon, who to my knowledge (limited knowledge) was the first to recognize that Solas (meaning pride in Elvhen) lost Wisdom in the Exalted Plains. I took that one step further, choosing to wonder why, in that case, he makes a point to tell you that he hasn't seen such wisdom in anyone since 'his deepest journeys into the Fade' (I paraphrase). Either he's wistful, or he wants it. He asks you if you've changed - not a coincidence.
> 
> The Chant says that Fen'Harel (or a spirit like a wolf, specifically) feeds on hope. I think everyone should keep that in mind right now.


	90. What Dreams May Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No self control. Yeah. Have a chapter, a day early. You'll get another one tomorrow, too. Chapters for everybody!!!
> 
> *Throws words randomly in the air so that they fall like streamers.*

Cullen crumpled the note in his fist just a few hours later, his daughter hanging her head in front of him, and the key members of the household in a small half circle before his wife‘s desk. “Bull,” he began to order, and then relaxed, “I can’t order you.”

“You don’t have to,” Bull cleared his throat. “Keep an eye on Emily, will you? She‘s going through a rebellious phase, and I don‘t want her to decide the Elvhen Restoration is a worthy cause,” He shrugged his shoulders under his harness. “I’ll be back, as soon as I can. The Boss with me, if I can manage it.”

Cullen nodded, and turned to his daughter. “I’m not angry, Pippa. I… suspected Solas would do something like this. And I knew that if he asked, your mother would go.”

Pippa threw her arms around him, and he knelt to hold her. “I’m still sorry,” she choked out. “Mum will be back though, Da.”

Cullen nodded, lacking conviction.

Pippa sniffed, “I’m gonna go up to my room. I love you, Da.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered. “Go on. I‘m… I‘m going to stay up for a bit. I won‘t be able to sleep.”

***

A day later, Asta stepped into the edge of the forest that edged the start of the Brecilian Forest proper, hoping that it was close enough to where Solas had said to meet him. The overhanging arcs of conifer branches shadowed her and she shivered, feeling eyes upon her, and spoke aloud, “Figures it would end with me and Solas, don‘t you think?”

Bull’s voice rumbled out behind her, “Yeah, you’re only missing Cass and Varric to bring this full circle.”

“What about Emily?” Asta asked, too calmly.

“Talked to Dorian on the way. He agreed, said I - I had to finish the job. Chargers always finish the job.” Bull cleared his throat. “Hard to leave her. But I’m not letting her get anywhere near Solas, that dirty old man. My daughter’s too pretty not to catch the Dread Wolf’s eye, and she‘s been reading too much about the Elvhenan lately to keep me comfy. That ‘Vint librarian has her hooked.” He cast an eye at Asta. “You sure Cullen’s got close enough tabs on Little Boss, Boss? She didn‘t seem happy ‘bout staying back. Cullen wasn‘t mad. But she went upstairs on her own looking like a storm cloud. Grounded herself on the banister a few times.”

“He can‘t stop her from dreaming. None of us can do a fucking thing, if she makes up her mind, all we can do is get it over with before she can intervene, if we can,” Asta breathed deep, smelling evergreens and the damp, slightly rotting scent of early spring, “Let’s do this, then, Bull. You and me.”

“Not without me,” Petri stepped out from behind a tree. “Minaeve understands, Inquisitor. So don’t ask.”

“You might have to fight, Petri,” Asta explained slowly. “I can’t ask… you’re nearly as pacifist as…”

“As a ‘Vint gets? It’s fine, I have something to fight for, now,” Petri face was grim.

“Yeah, like the fact your Mom will murder you if you don’t come back to give her grandchildren,” Bull grunted.

“There is that, yes,” Petri managed a smile. “On the other hand, if she has Dorian summon my spirit from the Beyond to complain of my lack of filial obedience, I will likely tell her I did it to keep Minaeve safe. I came so that she wouldn’t. Mother can’t fight romantic sacrifice. She‘s a sucker for that stuff.”

They penetrated the dense undergrowth slowly, looking all around, and Asta laughed. As if they would see anyone, if they didn‘t want to be seen - the Sentinels had been invisible until they started shooting. “It’s like the Arbor Wilds, all over again, only without the armies at my back.” She frowned, as a single redbird startled and flew overhead. “Wait… those birds aren’t native to Eastern Ferelden. That‘s…”

“It’s like the jungles of Seheron,” grunted Bull, looking almost as rattled as he had in the Fade. “Almost expect a fog warrior, any minute. Watch yourselves.” They walked on, braced for an ambush that never came.

Instead, a single man stepped out of the shadows into a clearing that Asta didn’t remember reaching, to face them, his eyes glowing softly in the dim light filtering through the boughs. “Lethallan.”

Asta raised her crossbow, praying she wouldn’t have to use it. “Solas. You don‘t get to call me that anymore.”

“If you prefer,” he replied easily. “I’m sorry about your companions.” Asta’s eyes swiveled away to see Bull and Petri crumpled uncomfortably in two heaps, Bull’s bad knee twisted painfully. “Just asleep. I have no real desire to kill any of you. You are not a threat.”

“Are you a threat?” Her trigger finger hovered, not pressing in, but resting comfortably on the crossbow.

“That remains to be seen,” Solas sighed as if weary. “I wished to speak to you, privately.”

“We haven’t changed our minds about Pippa,” Asta began irritably.

“But Pippa has.” Solas raised both eyebrows, obviously amused. “She has been sleeping long hours, hasn’t she? The entire Fade is her classroom. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed teaching, showing someone else how beautiful the Fade could be.”

“She told me that she‘s been helping you,” Asta let her crossbow fall. She looked around her again. “This isn’t fucking real, is it? This is all fake, like… before. When we were in Haven after…” She focused on her arm with sudden determination, channeling her will as she once had through her Anchor, and Fact disappeared, to be replaced with her arm, only the Anchor missing. She raised and twisted it, longing drifting over her face.

“Whether it is real is still a matter of opinion,” Solas smiled, showing all his teeth. “You told me to come to her, if I wanted to teach, and I have - just not in physical form. She agreed to speak with me, and I remained safe. I have been training her, in my way. Did you think all her abilities were due to her being a prodigy, and having a spirit to guide her? She‘s remarkable, but not that remarkable.”

“I did, actually,” Asta looked back up, “I don’t underestimate my daughter, unlike some. Give her up, Solas.”

Fen’Harel looked at her for a moment before replying. “No.”

“Don’t use her like you used me,” Asta begged him.

“You were helpful,” Solas agreed, but with his eyebrows slightly turned in, as if unwilling to admit that he had used her, after all. “I - regret that I could not tell you the whole truth. It was unbecoming of me.”

“Stop tormenting her, Fen’Harel,” Pippa appeared around the edge of a tree, and Asta reached for her. “Mum, your arm! Well done!” Pippa’s face shone with the pride of a child in a parent. “Mum, you know what I have to do,” she breathed into her ear as they embraced.

“No, I don’t know what you have to do,” Asta firmed her lips, and tried to focus her willpower again. The Anchor sparked into existence on her newly formed hand. “Wake up and go home, Pippa. Please. Back to your Da… he can‘t lose both of us.”

“No,” Pippa wavered a moment, but then Asta felt her will reestablish itself - a nearly visible aura around her body. “I can’t. I have to learn. I am sorry I kept it from you… but you would have been mad at me.”

“It’s forgiven, love, if you’ll just go home,” Asta begged. “Please. We can’t lose you.”

Pippa wavered again, but once again, a surge of power came from her. “It’s all right, Mum,” she whispered. “Trust me, please. Hope has me. I‘m as safe as he can make me.” She held her tight, and whispered gently. “I love you, Mum. Tell Da, and Ian. Wake up.”

Asta bolted upright, a set of new bruises already talking to her, and her head feeling like the day after. This was no clearing. It was barely the forest. This was where the road twisted just after the forest began - the paths forking off into underbrush and away to the Northern Forest. In the background, she could hear the distant streams burbling - and in her confusion they sounded vaguely menacing. Her companions were groaning around her, collecting themselves. Her memory rushed back, “Pippa…” She stood shakily, and stumbled towards her friends. “Bull - we have to get back to South Reach.”

“Yeah,” Bull winced as he limped to his feet. “Explain on the way, will you? All about how we ended up in a pile on the ground, and why I‘m thinking about Seheron and all the fucked up shit that happened there.” Asta grabbed at him, and slung his arm over her shoulder, Petri fumbling to his other side to support him. “Shit, that hurts.”

“Did you bring a horse?”

“Asuna’s tied up just outside the treeline. Next to yours - caught him when he was running back after you let him go. Thought you might need him after all, unless you wanted to hike all the way back.” Bull huffed, “You shouldn’t be such a pessimist, Boss. You might have won. Think ahead for once in your life, will ya?” He paused in his wince-limp pattern to ask, “What did happen? Did Solas lure you out here only to go for Little Boss?”

Asta sighed, “Let’s get you home, so Emily can yell at you.”

“There’s gonna be a lot of yelling, Boss. I doubt even half of it will be Emily. You might’ve broke Cullen.” Leaning heavily on both of them, Bull picked up his good leg and kept moving.

***

Cullen met her outside of the house, and grabbed her off her horse. Behind him, her father and Hawke stood, the latter with her arms folded across her chest, and a sullen look on her face, and the former with a worried expression that didn‘t make Asta feel any better. “You left me!” Cullen’s voice was loud in her ear, but Asta was nearly strangled with the tightness of his embrace. She felt her ribs creak.

“I didn’t see any other way! I have what Solas wants, but he won’t take it! What else am I supposed to do? I have to save all of you!”

“No you don’t! Your part in this story is done, Asta! You’ve earned the right to live the life you want, not the one forced upon you.”

“Since when has what I deserve ever mattered, Cullen?” Asta’s voice broke. “If people were always given what they deserve…”

Cullen loosened his arms, and let his forehead head fall onto hers. “I know. I _know_ , damn it. Just don’t… don’t leave me again. I can‘t lose you.”

Asta pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Just take me to Pippa. I know she’s sleeping, Cullen. I know that you can’t wake her. I saw her - he has her. She came to us, woke us up, and stayed behind. I‘m scared…”

“You won’t be able to do anything,” Cullen protested. “Rhys is with her…”

Hawke cleared her throat, “Do you have lyrium?”

Asta glanced at her husband, rueful. “Some?” Cullen shuddered. “It’s in Dagna’s workshop, Cullen. Locked up. For experimental purposes only.”

“Then there’s something we can try,” Hawke rolled her shoulders, and straightened her spine, as if suppressing her own shiver. “We can send someone into the Fade to recover her.” Her voice was small. “I’ve done it once before. With Feynriel. In Kirkwall.” Her face grew stern, “But I’m not going. It needs to be someone she trusts, someone who can lead her out of her dreams, if she‘s a prisoner in them.”

“I’ll go…” Asta started.

Hawke snorted, “A mage, idiot. A mage that she trusts. Otherwise, you can kiss your daughter good-bye. You might as well make her Tranquil, if this doesn‘t work. At least then she‘ll live.”

Cullen snarled, but Asta stilled him. “We have a few people we can ask,” Asta said, very quietly indeed. “I’ll go find Dagna.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there. I'll post the next chapter tomorrow. Promise.


	91. Hope Never Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly.
> 
> All right, let's do this thing. Since I posted a chapter yesterday, I'm going to finish it up today instead of Monday. Expect two more chapters to be posted shortly.
> 
> This whole finish is harder for me than it should be. I need to do it quick, like a Band-Aid.

Rhys woke, shaking from the lyrium, after only half an hour this time. “There’s no use,” he explained in despair. “Her protections are coming from her friends. They are keeping her safe from Fen‘Harel, that is certain. He was prowling around - I could sense him, but not see him.” He shivered and Evangeline wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. “But they won’t let me in. I begged them, but they won’t let me, even while they apologize. She‘s so strong - I could see her will protecting her like a tower. The safety was ingrained in the walls. Like Skyhold.” He reached for Evangeline. “Maker, if I had only been there before she erected the barriers. They‘re a work of art, Inquisitor. You should be proud.”

“It would have made no difference, in the end,” his lady assured him, helping him to his feet and supporting him to a nearby chair. “I, for one, am glad your leg wouldn’t let you go.”

“How long can she sleep like this?” Asta asked, biting her lip immediately in regret after she asked the question.

“Not long, without food or water,” Cullen rubbed his face, dull and tragic. “She’s been asleep for two days. She maybe has another five, if we’re lucky.”

Asta choked off a sob, and turned her face to her husband, her arms full of her son. Ian patted her hair gently as Cullen folded them both into his chest. “Ma.” The baby reached out his hand to his sister, "Pi?"

"Sleeping, Pup," Cullen told him, his voice hoarse. "She's... tired."

The baby rubbed his eyes, and laid down his head.

“So we wait,” Ser Evangeline said, firmly. “We’ll take turns watching, Inquisitor.”

Cullen whispered into Asta’s hair. “I’ll go first. Please, let me? You should get some... rest.”

Asta found herself unable to sleep, tossing and turning until she finally rose and entered her daughter’s room, intending to relieve Cullen, whether he liked it or not. He was holding himself too responsible for Pippa’s choices, torn with the desire to protect her, and being unable to do it.

She was doing the same thing, but it felt like the greater part of the burden should be on her shoulders, not his. It should be her battle, not her daughter's.

Cullen was sleeping on his knees next to the bed, his kneeling position suggesting that he had been praying before he drifted off. He had covered Pippa’s hand with his own, and laid his face sideways on her featherbed. Asta watched them together, tears in her eyes.

“Lethallan,” the voice spoke from behind her. Asta closed her eyes, angry and resigned - a strange combination but one all too familiar when her former companion was around. “I’ve come for your daughter.”

“I’m here for my daughter. My husband is here for our daughter.” Asta spoke clearly, and tried to remain calm. “You’re here to steal her.”

“If I take her, she will live.” Solas stepped out from the shadows, and Asta folded her arms over her chest. “Isn’t that better than death?”

Asta bit her lip, but pressed on. “I don’t know how this works, Solas. But I met you in the forest to make a sacrifice. My life for hers. If you need spirits to give you strength, well, surely being touched by the Fade is worth something? Pippa says I’ve attracted Command, and she claims I have Wisdom as well. She says that‘s useful to you,“ She held up her hand, to put off the comment the elf was preparing, “But before you take what I‘m offering, I’m going to explain something. Here’s the thing - in a very strange way - you’ve restored my faith in the Maker.”

Solas chuckled softly, his voice tinged with bitterness. “There is no Maker. How do you justify such an argument?”

Asta spun to face him, and he bent away, like a willow in the wind, away from the flare of anger on her face. “Because I can’t believe in an almighty power, creating and destroying at whim, pulling frail mortals along on his power trip. I can’t believe in that Maker. But, I can believe in a man of great power, one who had wisdom and pride mixed in equal measure. A man who makes mistakes, repents, despairs, _repairs_ to the point of breaking himself, a man who falls asleep in exhaustion, to dream of a better world, only to wake and discover his entire dream is a lie. I’ve lived a shorter version of that life, so it’s something I can believe in. I can’t believe in the Chantry’s Maker, Fen’Harel, but I can believe in you.” She pushed up her chin. “Let my daughter go. The Maker I believe in doesn’t steal children. Fen’Harel doesn’t either. That‘s nothing but a lie the Dalish made up to scare their children into obedience.”

“Your daughter is Mythal.” He expected her to be shocked, recoil. Instead, Asta laughed.

“Not yet she isn’t. And she never will be. A soul isn’t forced upon the unwilling. She’ll never let herself be subsumed, her will is too strong, and the Avvar ritual prevents it from happening through corruption. In time, she will let the spirit go, and return to what she was before. I’ve pieced that much together. Let my daughter go and take my fade-touched soul from me instead. I know you can do it. Pippa says you took Beauty from Mythal. It can‘t be that hard.”

“The difference in power is hardly equal,” Solas began, his eyes shifting back to the bed. “It’s an inadequate exchange, Inquisitor.“ With those words, an apparently sleeping Pippa was slowly beginning to glow, a white hot pulsing energy cocooning her. Asta turned her head to follow his gaze. “No! Da’len!” Pippa’s magic burst and she was lifted up and set on her feet again, Cullen’s hand sliding out of her grip, and Asta recognized the spell as Resurgence, a version even better than Vivienne would have performed it. Even Pippa’s clothes seemed renewed. Solas slumped, and in a despairing voice said, “You should not have done that, old friend.”

“You left me no choice,” a huskier voice emitted from behind Pippa’s lolling head. “I had to preserve the child. Her body will die for lack of water. She was not created for Uthenera. You were wrong to teach her the basics. When will you stop making such mistakes? After all these ages, I would think you‘d know better.”

“Now I will have to destroy her body, as I did yours,” Solas choked. “I was going to take Hope, that’s all, and then let her go, as she was before she summoned your spirit, so that I could continue to teach her of her natural abilities! I do not want to do this, Mythal!”

“Then stop feeding on me!” Mythal laughed, her adult outline not quite meeting the edges of Pippa’s youthful body. “Kirkwall is ripe for the harvest, Dread Wolf. Find your Hope there. No need to kill a child in your greed.”

“Kirkwall has suffered enough,” Solas whispered. “I will not take the music they have made of their sorrows. Pippa has other friends to keep her company, as well as a rare talent. She would not be alone.” Asta frowned in confusion, and he chuckled, “Compassion touched me, as well, Lethallan,” he stepped towards Pippa‘s body, now outlined with a glowing corporeal apparition of Mythal, slowly coming into focus, “But the People need me. I need the power she holds to save them. Compassion works both ways - daggers can have two edges. I must have that Hope, even if it kills a Dreamer.”

“You would sacrifice a child to spare a city?” Mythal clucked disapprovingly. “You have it backwards, my friend. I thought you had Dreamed in Barindur. That entire city sacrificed itself for one child. Do you not remember?” Her power pulsed, and gathered itself inward, brighter than any star. Asta’s eyes narrowed, unwilling to look away, but worried she would be blinded by the light.

Solas started forward, “No!” He stretched out a hand in concentration.

“You cannot stop me, old friend,” Mythal whispered with a sad smile. “The child feeds me her will. It appears that once again, mine will be the last sacrifice. We agree what needs to be done.” Pippa’s body arched and an enormous power swelled and threw itself at the other Elvhen, encompassing him entirely. Pippa landed back on her bed, bouncing limply, and Asta threw herself forward to catch her and cradle her before she could injure herself or her still sleeping father, curving her own body around her daughter’s.

“Don’t be dead,” she ordered her sternly, and held on tight.

Pippa’s bedroom was not large enough to accommodate an epic battle of two Elvhen. The pictures rattled against their walls, falling to the floor. Books rattled off the shelves, paper falling out of them and whirling around in an invisible wind - an apparent attempt by Fen’Harel to block Mythal’s offense.

His defense was fruitless, and the power of his aura dissipated, chipped away at with an enormous pressurized magic that made Asta's ears pop, until eventually all that was left was a rather slender, bald elf in silver armor and an ostentatious fur, hunched into a ball. He uncurled himself slowly, staring helplessly. “Not again,” he whispered. “No, not again. I can‘t start over again!”

No one answered, but on the bed, Pippa opened her eyes, pushing a stunned Asta away. “Hope made you less, so you could change,” she rasped, in her own voice. “She’ll sacrifice herself again and again and again, and every time she will Hope that this time, it will work. That you’ll see!” Pippa rose on shaking feet, and wiped a trickle of blood from under her nose. “She’s sacrificed herself to prove to you that we are all People! Elves, humans, Tranquil, mages, templars, qunari, dwarves! All of us have worth, and our place in the world! We aren’t lesser parts of a whole, or dim reflections, or darker shadows, or remnants of a better place and time. We are souls - even those of us who aren‘t complete!” She was shouting at him now, and he curled further in on himself like a wolf cub trying to keep warm. “Without her, I can’t stop you. I’ll admit it. I haven’t come into my full power yet. But my mother can.”

“What?” Asta blinked. “Pippa, baby - did you hit your head when you fell?”

“You said it, Mum. You believe in the Maker. The man, not the fiction. The one who makes mistakes and tries to fix them. Remember the last acolyte from Silence, without whom, all the blood pools for nothing?” Pippa lifted her head, and slumped sideways against Asta‘s chest. “Andraste‘s Ass, I’m hungry. I could eat an entire Druffalo. You have your choice, Mum, just like the acolyte did. Do you run to tell the Archon, to try and stop the inevitable? Or do you make the sacrifice, your mouth sewn shut with Silence?”

Asta snorted, “I’m not known for keeping my mouth shut, Pip.”

Pippa relaxed, “Then you have to tell the story of the Maker, the real Maker. Tell everyone what he‘s going to do, and make them hear you. Sing it, like Andraste did. You need to be heard.”

“I’m not known for my singing,” Asta laughed incredulously, a halting hollow of a laugh. “And nobody is going to believe this shit. Varric was dead on.”

Pippa grinned, and she was the child again, not the mage. “He’s a trickster god, Mum. I think you can be off key. A bit, anyway. He‘s got no Pride left, so you can embarrass him all you like. Hope - Mythal - took all his Pride when she gave herself up. His strength was all in Pride, not Beauty. Solas isn‘t his name anymore.”

“Like Abelas,” Asta breathed, eyes wide in understanding. “You told him you hoped he found a new name. Abelas meant Sorrow. He wasn‘t linked to the Well anymore, and so he couldn‘t claim that name…”

“So you did listen to me occasionally,” the elf tried to sound cocky and failed.

“Mum, tell his story and give him a new name. Andraste did. You remember,” Pippa urged.

Asta frowned, nose wrinkling in distaste. “I never really thought of myself as the Andraste type at all, you know? I always wanted to be Justinia, escaping the disaster of Andraste’s pyre with the hunky Aegis, carrying a priceless relic. Helping the Aegis build a temple in the Frostbacks to house the Ashes while I wrote down the story of…” her words trailed off. “Oh. Shit. That’s what I’ve been doing, isn‘t it? Pippa… when did I become a Herald?! Shit. I should have been keeping a diary. Genitivi was right all along. Oh, he‘s never going to let me live it down.” Her dismay made the elf formerly known as Solas chuckle, as he recovered enough to pull himself to his feet. “Don’t laugh at me, Fen’Harel. This is all your damn fault. Giving your damn orb to random Magisters who leave it lying around for the ignorant to pick up. I was just trying to be nice, and look where it got me. I‘m a fucking Herald. Your fucking Herald, which is about ten times worse than being Andraste's.” Asta leaned back against the wall, her eyes still wide.

“Who do you think the acolyte was?” Pippa smiled with fatigue. “You were pretty far off, Mum, though you did the best with the information you had. Justinia was the acolyte. She was the first Herald of Andraste. Justinia warned the Archon, tried to prevent the Magisters rising, warned the Archon there was going to be war unless he did something. And then she left her home, when she failed, to join Andraste and tell her story, write down Andraste’s story of the Maker, hoping to make a difference in the end.“

“No one is going to believe me,“ Asta’s voice broke.

Pippa patted her arm gently, “Mum, he‘s not Pride anymore. You‘ve got to give him something to build on besides Beauty. You have to. I‘ll help. I remember how to do lots of things. Hope gave me a good-bye present.”

“Fuck. I never asked for any of this.” Asta blew out a gust of air forcibly. “All right. Call yourself ‘Liberator’, Fen’Harel. I‘d rather see you go back to your Shartan identity than anything else. At least back then you were a hero.” She narrowed her eyes, “And don’t deny that was you. It was you. Every damn tapestry and window and engraving looks exactly like your egg headed self. You haven't even changed your fashion sense.”

Pippa grinned, and began to Chant, “’Once, you were called Pride, and you learned to kneel.

Then I named you ‘Liberator‘, Freedom from bondage.

Do not forget that Pride led you to destroy, and service led to freedom.

That which yields is not always weak,*’” Pippa sounded like she was quoting. She lifted her hand, and formed a glowing ball of light in her palm.

“What’s that verse from?” Asta whispered.

“Tell you later,” Pippa grinned, “I remember so much, Mum. We’re going to have a lot of talking to do. You are going to pass out from excitement. Make sure Petri‘s got enough parchment. You‘re going to want to take notes.”

There was a flash of light that absorbed into the elf’s skin. “I will try,’ he murmured and stood, peering at Pippa. “I have to start over. This changes nothing - it only delays my plans. ”

“You could try something new. You know, they say that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. You have enough ages of repetition to satisfy any definition of crazy. But…at least you don’t have to sleep for hundreds of years this time,” sassed Pippa. “And my guess? Mum’s pregnant. Hope never really dies. I doubt Mythal’s soul went far. Works like an archdemon, don’t it? A soul is a soul.”

“Does it?” murmured Asta quietly, alarmed. “Pippa…”

“Don’t worry, it’s a true rebirth, Mum. Like the Avvar. She won’t have the memories or the baggage to deal with. My sister will be free to make her own mistakes,” Pippa looked satisfied. “Gonna be a mage… but so is Ian, judging by his dreams, so by the time she gets old enough, you’ll know what to do pretty well. Between the Anchor and Da’s lyrium, I think they had to be. Your babies don’t really attract weak souls, Mum.”

Fen’Harel chuckled, “Congratulations?”

“I suppose,” Asta muttered, mind and stomach churning with the knowledge. But she straightened up to her full height. “All right, Fen’Harel, I might as well tell you up front. I’m planning no wolf statues, making no pictures, commissioning no stained glass windows. I’m excavating Solasan, and that Solas village in Nevarra as soon as we can afford it. Keep Skyhold, if you can - I suppose your People need somewhere to go, just as much as mine. I won’t attack, because I really am going to disband the Inquisition. I'm sick of being accountable to other people when I damn well know what's right. I want to help people on my own terms. And I'm tired of trying to deal with an army. Let Cass and Rylen figure that shit out between them, or Loranil, if he still wants the job. But you’re not getting worshipped. You’re getting exhumed. Only the truth, no fiction. And nobody is fucking going to be your bride in this story. I’m married, and even if I weren’t, you aren’t my type, and you‘re way too old for me. I prefer hair, and lots of it. Furthermore…”

Fen’Harel raised his hand, “Do as you please. I do not intend to wait around to be worshipped, my friend. I am not a god.”

“Never trust anyone who tells you they are a god. And I can’t trust you - I’m not your friend,” Asta snapped. “You just tried to kill my baby girl. I’m going to blow your whole sad story wide open, no matter who believes me. I'd kill you now and do us all a favor, if I wasn't morally opposed to murdering the defenseless.”

“I could ask for no more,” Fen’Harel agreed. “Just keep in mind, I’m going to tear down the Veil as soon as I’ve recovered my strength. That will take time and effort, as you well know, and then… then we will see. But you need to warn people about the Evanuris, particularly. My efforts will release them all.” He narrowed his eyes at Pippa. “They will want your daughter. Dreamers are prized slaves.”

“Nobody’s making my baby a slave,” gritted Asta, arms tightening around Pippa again. “They can go Fuck the Maker in the Fade if they try.”

“Oh, at least one of them has already done that,” Pippa piped up, amused.

“Quite,” Fen’Harel sighed and limped towards the door. He paused on the threshold. “The Commander will wake shortly. I don’t suppose I could offer you an eluvian for the sake of convenience?”

“Not a chance. You can walk or hire a horse if you want to see us, asshole. We don‘t want to see you.” Asta told him. “And don’t drop in after bedtime, or before dawn. Cullen likes to sleep in, I like to know he’s actually sleeping, no matter the time of day, and we have young children who need their rest. I‘d personally rather never see your face again, for the rest of my life.”

“I will do my best to fulfill that wish,” Fen’Harel sighed. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Asta snarled.

“For believing in me. That sort of... faith, for lack of a better word, matters more than you realize.” Asta made a rude gesture in his general direction and he chuckled. “I deserve that.”

“And don’t talk to my daughter while she’s sleeping,” Asta summed up, in lieu of a good-bye. “Keep doing it, and you’ll risk my husband showing up at Skyhold with gelding tools.”

“That, I cannot promise.” With that, he disappeared down the hall, and Asta wished, rather than believed, out of their lives.

“Creep,” she muttered. “I liked him better as an apostate hobo.” Pippa giggled.

Cullen stirred and opened his eyes, bleary and worried. “Asta? Are you all right? I fell asleep, how is Pippa…” His eyes searched Pippa's, and he smiled, wide and wonderful, his eyes folding at the corners in relief, “Pip, you’re awake!”

“And still myself,” Pippa threw herself at him. “Thank you for staying with me, Da. It really helped, not being alone. ”

Asta shook her head, and reached for them, her arms circling the two. They stayed curled up for a few moments, before Ian started to cry in the next room. Asta stumbled upwards. “I’ll be right back with Ian,” she whispered, sliding off the bed. “Don’t move?”

Cullen smiled even wider, “Let‘s all move. I‘m a little afraid to let either of you out of my sight. Don't think either of you is escaping without me.”

Pippa shivered and looked down at her feet. “I feel… lonely, without Hope.”

Cullen glanced at Asta, alarmed, and she shook her head. “We’ll explain later. Ian first.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This addition to the Chant of Light was authored by the indomitable Iduna, who listened to my plea when I begged for an additional verse. Therefore it is not canon, but an excellent addition.
> 
> One of her comments is also responsible for the chapter title. Thanks for being such a great muse, Iduna!


	92. Three Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not crying, I am not crying. It's a happy thing, finishing a story! Not sad.
> 
> At all.
> 
> Shut up.

“And so, in conclusion, Genitivi is alive, and well, and holed up in Nevarra with his new lover,” Lace giggled. “He didn’t even realize that he had been missed, and insists he told everything he knew about the situation in Weisshaupt to Divine Victoria when he was in Val Royeaux for the Inquisitor‘s trial. He says we should take up the topic with her, not him, and scolded Dorian rather severely for not expecting the Chantry to keep secrets, before demanding to be left alone. He’s very, very busy. Not surprisingly, Dorian is livid that we drug him out of the Magisterium to find, and I quote, ‘Some horny old man who has written too many books for his own good.’ Magister Pavus has some choice words waiting for you, Asta, about the state of the Cumberland necropolis, and the lack of good Mortalitasi who aren‘t related to King Markus. I suggested he direct his complaints in Cassandra‘s direction, so that they can snipe at each other instead of at you, as you are officially retiring, and Loranil is unlikely to be patient enough to deal with Dorian's…” the spymaster coughed politely, “issues.” Lace set down her paper in front of her, and braced herself, hands behind her back.

Rylen cleared his throat, as the group turned to face him. “The remaining Wardens at Weisshaupt have agreed to accept our help, and my lieutenants are on their way to the Anderfels with our engineering corps, to see what we can do to assist their efforts at rebuilding Weisshaupt and defeating the darkspawn infiltrating from below. Warden Commander Howe has assigned them an escort; Warden Sigrun is on her way to Kirkwall as we speak. Inquisitor Loranil is meeting her at the docks, and they will ride to catch up with the army from there.”

Asta tried not to flinch at the use of the title for her replacement. “Josie? Do you have anything to add?”

“I…” the Ambassador consulted her list. “No, Inquis… Asta. I do believe that is all, except…” The woman‘s voice was thick. “Leliana assures us that she knows who set the fires, and that the group, unnamed in her letter, is being watched, very carefully indeed. Cassandra, acting on her own suspicions, is sending six Seekers to investigate the new Circle at the White Spire - despite the group claiming not to recognize her authority as they are separate from the Chantry. Cassandra is a firm proponent of changing the title ’Inquisitor’ to ’Lord Seeker’, since the Inquisition is technically disbanding. Her and Loranil will hash that out between them, I imagine. In the meantime, Fiona assures us that Caer Bronach will do quite nicely for the school we intended her to run in Skyhold, and that she appreciates it being so much closer to Denerim, though the weather is considerably less pleasant, if ever so slightly warmer. She received the letter from the King deeding it to her formally, the day before yesterday, and wrote us immediately. Her funding is assured - both by Their Majesties and our donors. That is all, I think.” Josie pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers.

“Then you have bags to pack and a ship to catch,” Asta smiled wistfully. “You will be missed, Josie, Rylen. Don‘t forget our invitation, when you get that far. Don‘t wait too long, fancy Antivan wedding or not.”

“I would never forget your invitation,” Josie choked and pulled out her handkerchief, wiping her eyes gently, “It’s been an honor. I‘ve almost grown to appreciate Ferelden, these last few months.”

Asta reached out and squeezed her hand and then, laughing, pulled her in for a hug. “Likewise. I look forward to hearing of the up and coming Montilyet family.” Josie nodded against her shoulder, speechless. “Then that’s it,” Asta said, straightening up to her full height, feeling like the weight of the world was falling off her shoulders. “Thank you all, for everything you’ve done over the years. If I am ever in a position to do you a favor, let me know. I owe each and everyone one of you my life. Lace - I’ll see you and Kenric before you leave for Denerim, I hope?”

The Scout nodded, and the small group filed out, one at a time. Asta watched them go, counted to twenty, mostly to gain control of her own emotions before she left the room, and then the house, weaving around by the side door that exited by the kennels. The puppies yelped and tumbled in the background trying to reach her - their count now minus three. The first had refused to be left behind when Hawke had finally departed for Starkhaven, over four months pregnant and accompanied by a smug husband who wouldn‘t keep his hand off her still-flat stomach, no matter how often she batted it away. Her new ’Dog’ had already learned to distract him, for his mistress’ sanity. The other puppy had escaped the kennel, as if by magic, only to show up yelping outside Arl Bryland‘s Keep, slipping past the guards trying to catch him until he woke up the King of Ferelden with, what the Queen assured her, was a thorough tongue bath. That pup was now in Denerim, holding court with the King, who insisted on consulting him before every decision, with his wife’s amused encouragement.

Apparently the dog gave better advice than Arl Eamon. Not too surprising, really. The Queen, still suffering from extreme morning sickness, and without hope that it would resolve itself, was large and immobile and grumpy, by most accounts, with three months to go. The Rutherfords were supposed to travel into Denerim to attend the name day celebration in the Chantry - but not for a few months yet. Too soon to plan, really, Asta mused.

The third, ’Buzz’, was firmly ensconced with Sera and Dagna, in the little house they were renting on the edge of the village.

The sounds of the dogs faded away as Asta scaled the hill, staring at her feet and trying not to think about how much she would miss everyone leaving in the next few days, and how empty the house would seem. She crested the rise, cloak snapping in the brisk spring wind, to find Cullen kneeling, Dane rolling upside down beside him, as Ian toddled towards his Da, laughing like only her son could - a burbling spring of joy. Pippa’s hands hovered over his upright fists without actually touching him. Was she using magic to hold him up? It didn’t look like it…

Her breath caught, hitched on her swollen throat as Ian fell into Cullen’s arms and her husband rolled him over an arm to tickle him until the toddler shrieked with laughter.

Cullen lifted his eyes and smiled, as wide and beautiful as the hills around them. The grasses and Embrium waved as Pippa followed his gaze and sprinted to embrace her around her waist, knocking her feet out from underneath her and toppling her over into the soft grass with a panting laugh. “Mum - you’re finished already? What did Fiona say about school? Can I go? It’s not like it's forever…”

Asta said not a word, instead letting herself relax, and watch the clouds above her, drifting lazily in the late morning sun. She couldn’t see the scar in the sky from here, so much the better. She didn’t need the reminder that it would split open again as soon as Fen‘Harel found enough power to fuel the action.

From here, the world looked perfect, as Cullen made his way over to flop next to her, Ian squirming in his arms like a puppy himself. Released with a muffled curse, after accidentally kicking his father in the ribs, he crawled off to slump next to Dane, who, exhausted from his own litter, barely even flinched at the boy’s enthusiastic hug and sloppy openmouthed kiss.

Asta hooked Pippa closer, and watched the golden red and green of the embrium crush under her husband’s body, the healthy scent released into the air. He leaned forward and kissed her, Pippa’s giggles not stopping him in the slightest.

He rocked back, smiling down, and propped himself up on one arm. “Where from here?”

It took Asta a moment to speak, too content in the moment around them to want to ruin it with plans and motives- but…

“From here, we stay,” she smiled, for once relieved to be staying put. “At least for a bit. We need to establish CARROT as a respected group, I have to get over the worst of the morning sickness and fatigue, write down about a million impressions and notes about Fen‘Harel, and try to convince Varric that he won‘t be excommunicated for heresy for helping me publish a book about the real Maker…” she sighed, overcome. “There’s still a lot of work to do. But for now, I can do it here.”

She could afford to stay, to watch her son grow up, and her daughter shine brighter than ever. Maybe even escort her to Crestwood for school, and warn her about sneaking out to the caves underneath lest she be eaten by giant spiders, and to make sure the dam controls were locked up securely. She would be there as her husband continued to fight his way to the other side of trauma and addiction. He’d be there to sing to his second daughter.

This time, she’d even get to watch her roses bloom, and celebrate every damn major and minor Feast Day the village could throw at her - all without joining or leading - a single committee.

There was no point in disappointing the entire village that Josie hadn’t decided to stay - she knew her own shortcomings, and planning parties had never been her strength unless you were satisfied with tiny cakes and alcohol.

On a second thought, what more did you need?

All the same, for the moment, her path looked clear, and Solas could tell his own damn story, if it was that important. Not that Pippa would let her do that - the girl had taken to waking her up in the morning with parchment in one hand and tea in the other.

But for now, it was a novel sensation, to feel like she had nothing to do, even if it wasn’t true.

A small bubbling feeling pressed outward inside her, and she smiled, grabbing Cullen’s hand possessively and letting it rest. “Hi,” he whispered to the occupant, and then cleared his throat. “Pip - are you sure that you’re all mages?”

“Positive, Da,” beamed Pippa, flopping backwards again. “It’s all right. You’ll see. Mum was too bright in the Fade to ignore, even with the Anchor gone, it left marks, and the remains of the lyrium in your body just made it worse.” She rolled over, and in a moment was upright, facing him, cross-legged and lecturing. “All the Templars that have kids have mage kids. Why do you think the Chantry limited them getting married, hedged them in with rules? They might not have encouraged celibacy vows, but they didn’t discourage them either. Lyrium attracts spiritual energy!” She snorted, and allowed herself to fall sideways. “It’s science. Ask Dagna, if you don’t believe me. She‘s writing a damn book.”

“Language, Pippa,” but Asta’s voice lacked conviction.

Cullen was silent, but ultimately smiled, “I guess that makes sense.” Asta covered his hand, looking a little worried, her laziness dissipating. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll just have to learn as I go, I suppose. I‘ll ask Dagna to let me read her notes. Hopefully they aren‘t in dwarven. And she should probably hear about…” he cleared his throat, “the effects of ingested lyrium on reproductive situations.”

She squeezed his hand. “We all learn as we go, Cullen.” She paused, “Did you hear from the Templars you wrote to?”

“The first couple are due in a week,” Cullen laid back and stared up at the sky. “Rylen’s doing much better. He‘s okay to travel. Josie will take care of him, if it gets worse.”

“Ma!” Ian shoved himself up, and toddled over, shaky on the uneven ground, and falling twice - Apparently it hadn’t been magic, then, and wasn’t _that_ alarming? - and handed her a single dandelion pulled out by the roots - rather worse for wear. “Fl’er.”

“Thank you, Pup,” Asta said, and he fell on her, with a smacking kiss that smelled like dog. Asta laughed, resisted wiping her cheek, and made a show of smelling the dandelion. “It’s beautiful.” Ian hugged her tighter.

Cullen looked back over, and agreed, softly, “Yes, it is.” Asta blushed and smiled at him over their son’s head. “Life itself is beautiful.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Asta sighed with contentment, and stared back up at the sky. "Who would've thought?"

_The End of Asta's Story_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an epilogue from Pippa's POV coming up next. I decided it worked better in a final, separate chapter.


	93. An Epilogue: Five Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Gah, I'm a mess.

_Five Years Later:_

“Come on!” Ian tugged Pippa towards the horses. “Pip, we’re gonna get left behind. Mum‘s already put Tyra in the wagon. Twice.”

“Leave me alone, pest,” his older sister pulled her hand out of his. “I’m trying to say good-bye.”

“Don’t go all kissy-face,” one of her cousins pulled himself out from under the supply wagon - nearly overloaded with barrels and crates. “I’ll tell your Da.”

“Shush, you,” she stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m plenty old enough to…”

“Better watch it! Desire demon will get you! Whoo… spooky!” Loren taunted, and ran in the other direction before she could try to shock him like he deserved. Sera cackled in approval at his words, her arms full of a crate that buzzed suspiciously as she settled it down, and wrapped a spare blanket around it, singing under her breath.

Ian gave up and grabbed his saddlebags, heading towards his horse. “Just don’t be too long, Da doesn’t like it when things run late.”

“I bloody well know what Da does and doesn‘t like!” Pippa rolled her eyes. “Look,” she muttered, looking at the ground, “I’m going to have to go. Ian’s right, Da definitely doesn’t like it when…” her friend pecked her cheek, and then backed up two steps, a slow smile building across his freckled face. “Oh,” she echoed the expression, her own lips stretching happily. “I guess I’ll… see you in a few months?”

“Yeah,” the boy muttered, eyes downcast. “I’ll be here.” Pippa stepped towards him carefully, giving him time to retreat if he wanted, and then cupped his head and kissed him full on the lips. “Maker‘s Breath,” the boy said, eyes closed, and then opening. “That… tingles.”

“Only a little,” Pippa laughed. “See you ‘round?”

“Definitely,” the boy swallowed, “Why you have to go to this stupid elfy temple, anyway?”

Pippa’s face grew hard, “I’m half-elf, you know.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just,” the boy rolled his eyes, “your family’s always taking off, spending the winter or summer in some odd place like that. If it’s not an elfy temple, it’s an ancient necropolis in Nevarra, or something even more weird. My parents said two years ago you were in Tevinter. I didn‘t know anyone ever went to Tevinter!” His face was confused and awed. “And the _King_ visits you. You’re not even noble? And your family always has a horde of guests in your massive house, leaving and coming… the ones staying in the inn talk about bizarre stuff, my sister says. And the lyrium addicts - my Da says they don‘t die when they stay with you. That your Da nurses them back to health. That‘s impossible. Is he a healer? But Da says that he was a Templar, too, before the mage rebellion. So that can‘t be right.”

Pippa’s face softened, “My Mum’s a scholar. She’s… studying something and writing a book. It's about something that means we travel around. She likes us to stay together, as much as possible. I can’t really talk about it, but…”

“Just as long as you stay safe,” the boy stammered. “I mean, I hear bad things, about old ruins. They say there are monsters and giants in the Western Approach. And that it’s full of darkspawn.” He said the last in a whisper, eyes fearful.

“Oh, I’m safe,” Pippa giggled. “Anything we run into ought to be scared of me. Trust me,” she winked. The boy didn’t look convinced. “And if they aren’t scared of me, then there’s always Da, or Uncle Bull.”

She shouldered her bags, and sauntered off to her horse, held steady by her slightly disapproving Da,. Undeterred, she smirked over her shoulder at the boy.

Cullen handed her the reins, and Pippa mounted, easily. “Kissing, huh? Just like that - in front of everybody? What would your grandfather say? Don‘t think your mother won‘t write and tell him. She tells him everything these days.”

“Mum told me that you had your first kiss much younger,” Pippa countered, meeting his eyes. “Don’t make me ask my friends if that’s true. I’m fourteen, Da. Old enough for kissing.”

Cullen blushed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just… don’t get into trouble, all right? Be safe?”

“Funny, he told me the same thing,” Pippa teased. “Maybe you would get along. Should I introduce you?”

“When we get back,” Cullen drawled. “Traveling to the Forbidden Oasis and back is time enough for you to have a nice long think about whether you’re responsible enough to have a relationship… and we should have a talk about…” he cleared his throat, “Sex.”

Pippa rolled her eyes. “Da, I hear all Emily’s stories. I probably know more than you do. Besides, Mum sat me down three years ago. And I’m not looking for a relationship, I just like spending time with…”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Cullen deadpanned. “You two. Spending more time together. That way trouble lies. How do you think…”

Asta sidled up next to them. “Knock it off, love. Pippa, I want to hear all about him. Every lurid detail.”

“Lurid is a bit much, Mum,” Pippa grumbled. “Ew.”

Ian steered his horse over, “Da, Loren says that Laurel says she saw them talking behind the kennels.”

“Talking?” Cullen lifted a single eyebrow, “…or _talking?_ ”

“TALKING!” Pippa nudged her horse forward. “Andraste’s Mercy, all of you need to mind your own business! A woman deserves some privacy!” She stepped forward a few steps before pulling her to a halt.

Next to her, Bull eased onto Asuna’s most promising daughter, a sturdy dracolisk with pink coloring. “Thatsa girl. That’s my beautiful Sakura,” he crooned lovingly. Ma’am heeled, and barked derisively, ribbons shaking from the Qunari style braids holding her fur close to her body. “Yeah, yeah, my knee’s acting up again. Guess I should be glad we’re not marching to the Forbidden Oasis, huh?”

Emily, on her own horse, a sturdy Forder, snorted. “Chief, you’re too old to be so…”

“I‘m not too old for nuthin‘,” Bull looked insulted, and then wrinkled his forehead in Ma‘am‘s general direction, the lines deeper than they used to be. “Not sure about the ribbons, Em. They’re gonna get torn. Dorian…”

“The braids keep the briars out!” Emily insisted. “You’re not going to brush her every night, and I’m sure as the Void not going to, and you know that Dad will be furious if Ma’am is covered with Northern Prickleweed when we meet up with him!” She muttered something else under her breath in fluent Qunlat that translated roughly into something about Tamas with less sense then they ought to have. Pippa hid a smile, happy that her language lessons had let her understand so much.

“The ribbons are pretty,” Bull admitted. “Sure you don’t mind leaving the pups behind, Ma‘am?” The dog barked again, and Dane came up and planted himself next to her, nosing her in the throat and tugging on her ear gently. “Hey!” the Vashoth protested. “None of that! She’s done, Dane. Done. No romancing the dog into another litter. Three is more than enough. Right, Ma‘am? We‘re done with the puppies. Done.”

The dog looked at Dane sideways, and huffed non-committedly. Dane panted.

“Maker preserve me,” Cullen blanched. “You just weaned the last lot. Please, both of you, let the rest of us get some sleep? Someone has to clean up after them!”

Dane only panted some more, his doggy smile stretching wide and tongue lolling out.

Asta sighed, and rode to the front of the wagons, “All right, let’s get this show on the road. We need to make at least 20 miles by sundown, if we’re going to make the rendezvous with Dorian and Cassandra in five days, and if Cullen’s grumpiness is any indication, we’re running about an hour behind. None of you will be happy with me if we have to ride late before we can eat.” She turned in her saddle, her reins gathered in her prosthesis, “Cullen, do you have the kids, or do you want me to keep an eye on them?”

“I don’t need watching,” Ian mumbled rebelliously. Pippa stifled her similar reaction, lest she sound like her much younger brother.

“I don’t wanna ride in the wagon!” Tyra complained.

“Ian, you absolutely do,” his mother raised a single eyebrow and pinned her youngest daughter with a serious look. “And it doesn’t matter what you want, young lady. I’m not arguing this with you. In my heyday, these roads were thick with demons, wolves, and bears. More than we could count. King Alistair may be doing a decent job, but there are always bandits. Bandits that would think nothing of kidnapping a child for ransom or…”

“Love,” Cullen spoke up, “We didn‘t come here for a lecture. We‘re late, remember?”

“Oh, all right,” Asta grumbled, as Ian rolled his eyes. “Ian.”

“I didn’t say nothing.” Ian echoed her tone.

“Anything. No, but you looked it,” Asta’s eyes twinkled. “Why don’t you take point, if you’re so grown-up, Pup?”

Ian’s head perked up and he directed his horse forward, eager.

“Remember, pace him,” Cullen called out. “If he’s exhausted in an hour, you’ll have to ride in the wagon with your sister!”

“But I don’t wanna ride in the wagon,” whined Tyra.

“Then pay better attention to your riding lessons, and hope that your father is merciful,” Asta countered. “Ian?”

“I got this, Mum!” Ian insisted, his face determined.

Asta sidestepped over to Cullen. “Maker, he looks like my father when he makes that face,” her son’s hair, full of corkscrew curls, bounced with the horse’s trot, and his amber eyes gleamed. “I swear, every time I ever saw him on a horse, that was the face he made, like nothing gave him more joy.”

“When are you going to let me cut his hair?” Cullen hissed from between his teeth.

“When he asks,” Asta shrugged. “Right now he’s happy.” Ian waved them forward with an expansive gesture. Pippa snorted at his pageantry. “Don’t push, Cullen,” Asta warned under her breath.

“But it’s so…” Cullen fumbled, “messy.”

“No,” Asta whispered. “It’s beautiful, and he likes it. Stop.” The two exchanged a look, a silent familiar battle, and she won. Again.

Some things would never change.

Her Da reached out and brushed her Mum’s hair, already escaping her tight braid, out of her face, and smiled. “All right, love,” he promised. He leaned over and kissed her, his newly grown beard leaving Asta‘s mouth a little red. “Let’s go already. The sooner we leave, the sooner we stop.”

Ian was already riding out, glancing behind him to make sure that people were actually following him, and Pippa clicked her horse to follow close behind her parents. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to share a tent with me?” Her Mum asked, lightly, as if it didn’t matter. Pippa rolled her eyes. She was too obvious.

Cullen looked straight ahead, “I daresay I might be amenable, given adequate motivation.”

Asta puffed a breath, “Oh, so now I have to bribe you?”

Cullen’s swift about face nearly knocked Asta off her horse. “Never,” he whispered. “I would be honored. As always.”

“Good,” Asta smirked, “Because I think someone forgot to pack your bedroll.” Her laughter echoed into the valley then, as Cullen cursed, and wheeled his horse back around to fall in just behind her. Pippa hid her smile again, but her shoulders shook, making her horse shake itself. Pippa leaned down and patted the mount's neck in apology, listening with all her might. “I daresay that you’ll have to sleep close, to keep warm. Wait until you see the stars in the desert though,” she said shyly. “You’ll be up all night, just looking at them. We didn‘t really have time, before Adamant…”

Cullen stepped sideways, close enough to say, a little too loudly, “Maybe we both will. I seem to remember receiving a letter that compared the cliffs to the color of my eyes. And wasn‘t there a creek, where you took a bath?” Pippa sniggered, and gave up trying to hide her interest.

She had found the letters in the attic months ago and read them all.

Asta colored, and then in a swift movement leaned over to kiss him again. They paused for a long moment, Cullen’s hand coming up to frame her face.

“Ewwww,” Ian complained, glancing back. “Mum, Da… don’t.”

“Will if I want to,” Asta sassed back. “You’ll understand someday, Pup.”

“Nah,” the boy looked upward. “I’m gonna be a dragon when I grow up, and fight with two swords, like the Hero Queen of Ferelden!” Asta and Cullen exchanged a rueful look, after which she shrugged, and nodded at their other daughter, looking sulky and bored after less than two minutes of travel. Cullen swung by the wagon and plucked his squealing daughter out of it to place her in front of him.

“Just for a while, Ty,” Asta admonished.

The little girl wriggled happily, “Yes, Mum. I’ll be good.”

Pippa turned and looked back. Behind them, the roses of Argyll bloomed fully, nodding in the nearly constant breeze, the windows empty. But in front, the boy was still watching silently. She waved, and he lifted a single hand. Rosalie and Krem lifted theirs as well, in a quiet farewell, from the door.

“Come on, Pip,” Cullen urged, glancing back himself and nodding at the lad cautiously. “We’ve got a ways to go.”

She sighed, “There’s always something else, isn’t there?”

“You’ve never said a truer word,” Cullen agreed.

And with that, Pippa faced forward and concentrated on the road ahead. Da was right -there was a long way to go.

Who knows what might happen on the way?

_The Beginning_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to thank my readers for being such amazing people. I'd name all of you personally - but not everyone comments, and I want you all to know that I appreciate every single hit, every single kudo from member and guest alike, and that I (literally) think about the nice things that people have said in the middle of the night when I wake up. I know I keep saying it, but I'm still surprised that people loved the characters enough to keep reading through an entire sequel, various spin-offs, and prequels. 
> 
> I am actually hoping that I'm not off AU so much that when more books, comics, hopefully movies, and games (!) are released, that I can write more in this world state. If you noticed, I set up several possible options for our next main character in this fic (Emily, Pippa, Loranil, Ian, Tyra, Nadiya, etc., etc., etc., and even Bernie - if I kill off Max and they don't cover enough time between the games to let my child characters grow up. I'll do it, if I have to. Max's job is inherently risky.) About the only character I don't have ready is another Warden, waiting in the wings at Weisshaupt to take up the threads of that campaign. So we'll see! :D
> 
> My personal guess is that they'll fast forward about ten years or more, though, and show us either Tevinter, embroiled in a civil war, or Nevarra, in a war of succession, or perhaps Rivain. Either way, I'll be there, trying to fit it into my existing headcanons and slight AU. :P
> 
> Thanks to my family for their endless supply of patience while I spend too much time dreaming about characters. I don't deserve you, but, like Asta and Cullen, I am rather glad it doesn't really matter what you deserve. Sometimes you just get lucky.
> 
> Keep your eyes out for a fic called 'Echoes of the Dawn'. I'm going to start posting it around New Year's. It's a different world state, and I think it's a whole lot of fun. I might even post a playlist, because I'm having so much fun with the wide variety of music I'm using for inspiration. Here's a hint: if you like Dean Martin, Sinatra, Patsy Cline and other oldies but goodies, you'll probably enjoy yourself. It's not all inspired by that - there's also a heck of a lot of Ed Sheeran and a little Rob Thomas - but it's a whole different kind of story.
> 
> I'm going to keep working on 'Lights in the Shadow', largely ignored for months while I got sidetracked, and will be writing a fic based on Rhys and Evangeline's adventures after they left Andoral's Reach but before they joined the Inquisition (I'm thinking about calling it 'To Ser, With Love'). I might even go ahead and write up the nightmare version of DA2 that I based my Hawke on. But that's some months out, I'm positive.
> 
> And thank you again for reading, and loving Asta. I'm not discounting the possibility of her having more adventures.


End file.
